


The Prince's Most Loyal

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coup d'état, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Loyalty, Past unrequited love, Politics, Romance, hints of m/m, pseudo-historical fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Prince Friedrich of Romankrai is overthrown and murdered in a coup d’etat by his estranged wife and her backers, his lover, Lise, and best friend, August flee the country and return to August’s and Friedrich’s homeland where Lise gives birth to Friedrich’s child. Five years later, August and Lise are in the painful process of rebuilding their lives when they find out that there are papers legitimizing Lise’s son and that his claim to the throne would have support among the nobility and the people. Good idea or not, Lise and August are about to stage a counter-coup and fall in love in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU:  
>  **lanalucy** for beta-ing my opening scene.   
> **NEStar** for the lovely [fanart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4656783).   
> **M.** for being my sounding board.

August had never been so frightened in his life. 

He could feel the wiry muscles of his horse flex beneath him as she galloped headlong across the empty field and toward the woodlands, which covered the last three leagues to the border between Romankrai and Grafschtum. At the height of the warm season, the countryside was bright, almost poisonous green, the tall grasses in the fields rising up to snap at the ankles of passing riders. The various greens and occasional browns of distant villages blurred before August’s eyes as he spurred his horse to go faster. _Faster._ He knew he was running her ragged, but he had no choice. There was simply no time. 

Beside him, Prince Friedrich of Romankrai rode double with his lover, Lise, at an equally breakneck speed. 

They only had the two horses between the three of them. They had left at a moment’s notice without a thing, only the small bag of gold, which Friedrich had managed to pull out of a hidden drawer in his secretaire. If Councilor Shugalov had come even ten minutes later to warn them or if they had tarried, they would not have stood a chance. 

They entered the woods, the horses’ nostrils flaring as their riders spurred them on, leaping over fallen trunks and small, rocky streams. August, who had never enjoyed hunting and was as much a civilian as a man could be, constantly felt like the horse would throw him at any moment. His own muscles were as tight and exhausted as the mare’s. A steep dip in the path ahead made him tense. He drew the reins just slightly to let his horse find proper footing as they went down the sleek slope, picking their way through the rocks. 

A sudden, loud neigh from Friedrich’s horse and Lise’s scream made August pull up abruptly. His mare bucked against the reins, nearly throwing him in the momentary struggle for control. He spun around, a surge of panic closing up his throat. The sight before him was not comforting. 

Friedrich’s horse had gone down, having either slipped in the mud or tripped over a rock. She lay with one of her legs at a strange, unnatural angle. Friedrich was struggling to stand. Lise, apparently shell-shocked, looked on in horror at the whining horse, who was not even attempting to rise. 

“ _Mon Prince!_ ” August jumped from the saddle, his feet hitting hard against the rocks embedded in the dirt path. He stumbled to Friedrich’s side and helped him to stand, then gave his hand to Lise. She took it without a word, her eyes wide and terrified. 

“Are you alright?” August asked, his attention focused entirely on Friedrich, who was looking over the fallen horse. 

“Yes, I am. But she isn’t.” The Prince bit his lip and gestured gloomily to the mare. “She’s broken her leg.”

“So all we have is one horse?” Lise’s voice was soft, but rough on the edges, frayed by the panic she was desperately trying to control. 

One horse and three leagues to the border. They would have to go on foot. They would never make it. 

Friedrich had apparently been thinking the same thing. “Two of us will have to take your horse, August. She will be utterly exhausted soon, especially with two riders. She would need to be allowed to canter…” 

August saw where this was going. He held Friedrich’s gaze, the tightness in his chest slowly turning into a liquid, nauseous feeling. 

“If we are lucky,” Friedrich continued, in an uncharacteristically calm tone, “the pursuit is far enough behind and their horses tired as well…” Friedrich reached out and took Lise’s hand. “I’m sorry, my love.” 

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his, closing the space between them. “I love you,” she mouthed. 

August watched them, the absurdity of this picture just barely registering in his mind. It would be quite the subject for a painting dedicated to black humor: the Prince of Romankrai running for his life from the very officers who had, just a year ago, pledged their swords and lives to him. The Prince of Romankrai among the summer foliage of the woodlands, standing over an injured horse in the middle of a dirt path, mud smearing his boots and britches, with only his lover and first chamberlain in attendance. 

He was so beautiful in that moment, with sun bunnies in his ginger hair and his cheeks bright red from the strain of their ride, eyes half closed… _Fucking hell, Beckendorf, this is not the time._

 __Friedrich raised his eyes after a moment of silence. “August…” he started slowly, seemingly uncertain for the first time in his life. “I must ask this of you.”

August swallowed. He knew what Friedrich was going to ask: he would ask him to stay behind. Even though Romankrai was Lise’s country, not August’s. Even though he had little reason to take Friedrich’s orders now when he could take his horse and be home within a couple of hours. No reason aside from loyalty and the love he bore his Prince. “Your Highness, there is no need. She is all yours. Go quickly before the pursuit catches up.” He took a step toward Friedrich, meaning only to take his hand one last time. “I will attempt to delay them.”

Friedrich’s expression went blank. “They would kill you if you tried.” 

August smiled softly. His next words were so quiet they were nearly drowned out by the pained neighing of Friedrich’s horse. “I would give my life for you quite gladly, Friedrich. You must know that.” He would not ask to go with Friedrich. He would not make his best friend leave the woman who managed to make him truly happy. Even if seeing them together drove August nearly mad sometimes. He could not mean to Friedrich what Lise did, but he could save him. 

“I know,” Friedrich said. “But this is not what I want to ask of you.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I will be the one to stay behind.” 

“No!” August and Lise shouted at the same time. 

“You can’t, they’ll kill you!” Lise’s voice rose to a shrill, unpleasant note. She clutched at Friedrich’s arm. “My God, Friedrich, don’t leave me.” 

“You cannot be serious.” The incredulity of this statement made August’s head spin. “You are the one they are after—“

“Exactly.” 

Lise and August exchanged uncomprehending looks. 

“I’ve lost this fight,” Friedrich continued, almost nonchalantly. “I’ve lost and I must now reap what I’ve sowed. They will never stop until they find me. Even if we are in Grafschtum they will find a way to get to me. Camille knows that as long as I am alive, she is not safe. She will not stop until I am dead and whoever is with me will also be in danger.” He looked from Lise to August, then stared into the emptiness before himself. “I refuse to put either of you in danger. I fear death, but I fear disgrace and exile just as much. I’m a dead man either way and I cannot stand the thought that either of you, or anyone else, will be hurt on my account on the way. It is not you they want, it is me. If they have me, they will let you go.”

“I won’t leave you,” Lise protested, shaking her head. The denial was clear in her eyes. “What about our life together, Friedrich, the one you—“ 

“They’re coming,” August stated blankly. In the distance they could clearly hear the low thunder of dozens of hooves. August met Friedrich’s eyes with all the resolve he could muster. “I will not leave you to face them alone.” 

Friedrich untangled himself from Lise and came to stand in front of August. He put both hands on August’s shoulders and looked up into his face. “No good will come to either of you here, my friend. I need you to do this for me. Take care of Lise. Take her to Kielnburg. The springs are so sweet back home. I still remember. Promise me you will take care of her.” 

“This is insane, Friedrich. Why are you giving up?” August could hear how embarrassingly choked his words came out. He could feel his hands trembling. _This cannot end like this. I cannot lose him._

“There’s no time to argue, August. Promise me.”

August looked into Friedrich’s face, their years together rushing before his eyes, swarming his mind until breathing become practically impossible. 

The thundering of hooves drew closer. 

“I promise,” he managed, finally. He tried to memorize Friedrich in that moment, to etch every line of his face onto his memory so he may never forget a single detail. “I swear to you, Friedrich. I will take care of her.” 

Friedrich nodded, satisfied. He gave August’s arms a firm squeeze, then turned away. August watched him say his goodbyes to Lise, her tears and protests, the way he gently kissed her goodbye. In those last few moments, with the sun starting to descend, with the shadows lengthening around them and the thunder of enemy horses closing in, August began to feel a strange numbness spread over him. 

The rest he would remember in a haze: Friedrich pushing Lise toward him, saddling up once again, this time with Lise seated behind him, the weight of her arms around his waist. His last glance at Friedrich before he spurred the horse. Turning the bend at the end of the rode just as the first shouts rose up from the riders who had been chasing them as they caught sight of Friedrich. 

He never saw Friedrich’s arrest but he could imagine it – the swarm of riders surrounding one maligned Prince as he stood helpless and alone, unwilling and unable to fight back. 

It would take years for the image to fade from August’s nightmares. 

***

The journey to Kielnburg, which lay at the heart of Grafschtum, took six days. Lise stayed quiet most days, only speaking when absolutely necessary. August was grateful for that - he did not think he could sustain a conversation if he tried. Blaming Lise for what had happened was futile. Camille and Friedrich's marriage had been dead long ago as neither gave it even half the chance. Lise was only one more excuse for Camille to plot against her husband, one reason among an entire arsenal of grievances. 

If August blamed anyone, it was himself. He should have seen that the political tide was turning against Friedrich, that the military was restless. He should have been able to convince his Prince that the treaty with Grafschtum was a bad idea in that moment and that attempting to keep it secret had been an even bigger mistake. He wondered if his pride had gotten in the way, if Lise would have been able to convince Friedrich to give the generals what they wanted - a nice, long war - if he had only come to her with his concerns. Would things had been different if he had accepted that she was clever enough to manage the Prince and that her influence on him was greater and always would be greater than August's?

On the third day of their journey, the news of Friedrich’s death reached them by means of a paperboy, shouting the day’s headlines from a street corner. August paid him a couple coppers and read the paper as he and Lise waited for fresh horses at the post station. The official story was that Friedrich had had a “fit” and died of natural causes, his chronically poor health finally getting the best of him. The less official rumors were that he had committed suicide after facing informal charges of treason. Naturally, neither of them believed a word. 

Lise would not cry in front of him, August noticed. She was constantly pale and silent but the only evidence that she ever shed a tear for her lover was in the bloodshot redness of her eyes after every night they spent lodged at a roadside inn. August wished he could comfort her, that he could tell her that there was nothing shameful in her grief and if he could, he would cry with her. But the words would not form. He had become so practiced over the years at hiding every ounce of feeling that exposing something as raw as grief to the world – even to a companion in mourning – terrified him. So he said little and Lise, who would watch him wearily sometimes when she thought he was not looking, followed his lead. 

***

The night they arrived at August’s family estate on the outskirts of Kielnburg, there was a storm. Heavy sheets of rain beet down on the roofs of houses and the trees swayed under sweeping gusts of wind. Lightning split open the sky, bathing the world in momentary shades of luminescent violet. The outlines of the estate house were only vaguely familiar to August – he had been eleven the last time he had been home. Truthfully, the estate had stopped being home even before he and Friedrich left for Romankrai. There had been a thunderstorm that night as well. 

“Does your family live here?” Lise asked as they dried off in the front hall and August gave orders to rouse some of the staff so that rooms could be prepared for the night. 

“Not anymore. The place has been mine since my father died three years ago. My mother is long gone and my sister lives in the city with her husband. I’m surprised the place has retained so much staff. Anna probably visits sometimes,” August explained.

There were no lady’s maids on staff – Anna likely brought her own when she visited – so August designated one of the maids to assist Lise for the evening. He took the time while she was upstairs to gather his bearings. 

The house was obviously empty of constant occupants. Though well kept, there was an empty quality to it. Many of the windows were shuttered, the inner rooms carried a musty smell of dust and wood, and it took the kitchen staff a long time to come up with suitable silverware and china for supper. August wondered through the dark halls and into the downstairs study, which used to be his father’s. When he and Friedrich were young children they would often sneak in to gaze in childish fascination at Monsieur Beckendorf’s collection of dried insects, proudly displayed in a glass case on one of the bookshelves. 

If August closed his eyes, he could hear the echoes of laughter, mixed with the even drumming of the rain. He had been happy here once. 

He must have lost track of time, because Lise’s soft knock on the study door startled him. She stood in the doorway with a single candle, her dress changed into a simple dark grey gown – most likely some old thing of Anna’s that the maids dug up – and her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She looked at him in askance. “May I join you?”

August nodded and sat heavily on the sofa, gesturing for Lise to sit beside him. 

Carefully, almost cautiously, she slipped into the room and placed the candle on the desk before sitting down beside him, hands folded on her lap. “Thank you for letting me stay here,” she said after a moment of silence. “Hopefully, I will know soon if it is safe for me to go home.” Her lip trembled just slightly. “The maids let me wear your sister’s dress, I hope you don’t mind. They said she rarely visits anymore now that she’s married and in Forenwald.” 

August looked over at her sharply. “They told you Anna is in Forenwald? I knew she married last year but…” He suddenly felt even more alone. His memories of Anna were faded, flimsy things and their correspondence had died off years ago as their lives diverged increasingly, but she was still his sister. Forenwald was leagues away – all the way across the Southern Sea. “You must think me a terrible brother.” 

Lise smiled sadly. “No. I understand how these things go. When was the last time you saw her?”

“I was maybe eleven. She would have been eight.” They were silent once more. Lightening glared and August only had time to count to two before the whip-crack of thunder. The storm was inching closer. Friedrich had always hated the damn things. “You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish,” August said finally. “I am merely afraid of compromising you.” 

“I doubt there is much chance of that here, so far from home, Monsieur Beckendorf. Besides, I was Friedrich’s mistress. Everyone knew about that.” 

The mention of Friedrich made them both tense up. August ran a hand over his forehead and through his hair. He could not stand it anymore. He needed to say _something_ , anything that would alleviate the helpless sense of loneliness that hung over him. Besides, she probably thought him to be terribly callous by now. “You know it’s ironic,” he began, choosing to watch the dancing light of the candle instead of meeting Lise’s inquisitive gaze. “There was a storm the night Friedrich and I were taken to Romankrai too.” 

“Taken?” She had latched on to his word choice like a cat. 

“Yes. Taken.” The words came out viciously. He could feel Lise shy away beside him. August took a deep breath to calm the storm of emotion that the memories of that night stirred within him. “Friedrich never told you?”

“Not really. I don’t think he liked talking about it.” She looked at her hands.

“We were living at court in Kielnburg. Friedrich’s father had passed the year before but Friedrich was too young to become Prince in his own right so there was a regency. But the Regent had sons of his own and wanted Friedrich out of the way. If you remember, the former Prince of Romankrai did not have children of his own.” 

“Yes, I do, though I was young myself.” Lise gnawed at her lip thoughtfully, remembering. “He was Friedrich’s uncle and when he realized, after three marriages, that he would never father a child, he decided to declare his nephew the heir.”

“Right. So they made a pact, the Prince of Romankrai and our Regent. Friedrich was sold across the border for a bag of gold and a place in the succession for the Regent’s eldest son. No one asked Friedrich what he wanted. He was sold like some kind of…” August stood, his agitation making him twitchy. He paced to the window and pulled back the curtains, staring out into the blackness of the night, looking past his own reflection on the glass. 

“Friedrich always hated thunder. It terrified him. So he had me sleep in his room whenever there was a storm. They came in the dead of night…men in uniform with swords and seals, papers and torches, like some inquisition of the old days.” August closed his eyes. He remembered clearly how terrified Friedrich had been, how uncomprehending of what was happening even as he signed away his birthright to the throne of Grafschtum. He remembered how they had stood in the middle of the room, two twelve-year-old boys in their nightshirts, and held hands as tightly as they could, their greatest fear that they would be separated. 

“They did not want witnesses and since I was refusing to stay behind, they let me come with him. They took us across the border in under four days. We slept right in the carriage… My father had tried to bring me back home but I was adamant to stay. I was the only person Friedrich had in Romankrai. If I had left, he would have been all alone.” _Not that it mattered. I’d failed him anyway._ He turned slowly back to face Lise. “I tried so hard,” he whispered into the silence of the room as a fresh glare of lightening bleached the colors from the world. 

“You can’t blame yourself for this, August.” She stood and walked over to him, taking his hand in hers. 

August was acutely aware that he was shivering, hardly able to hold back the waves of despair he had managed to keep at bay the last few days. Yet he refused to fall apart before her, under the weight of those understanding eyes. _How could she possibly understand?_

“Friedrich had wanted peace,” Lise continued, ignoring his discomfort, her voice growing stronger as it always did when she spoke with conviction. She always spoke with conviction about Friedrich. “Romankrai wanted war. There was nothing you or I could have done.”

 _I should have been able to make him see._ Instead, he said, “It makes no difference now. You look unwell. We should have supper and go to bed.” He pulled his hand out of her grip and shouldered past her. 

“Monsieur Beckendorf… August, please…”

August ignored her. He knew what she wanted – to talk about their feelings, for them to cry together. But he couldn’t. If she cried, he would comfort her, surely, because Friedrich would have wanted him to, because she deserved to have a proper chance to mourn her lover. But he refused to fall apart. And if he _talked about it_ he most certainly would. 

***

Within days of their arrival to the estate, Lise fell ill. She was ill for weeks. She was plague by nausea, fatigue, and loss of appetite for days on end. At first, August thought it was from grief. She looked at him with velvet, pitiful eyes every time he came to her room to ask how she was and see if there was anything he could do to help. That look made him both uncomfortable and protective, like he would be of a child. Finally, Lise agreed to see a medic.

The medic was advised that he was being called on a private, sensitive matter. He was a short man with greying hair and wiry spectacles. He fussed and tutted but he came highly recommended and his voice was not unkind when he asked August about who Lise was and what he knew of her medical history. He spent some twenty minutes in her room emerging with a carefully blank expression. 

“Well?” August asked. He realized then that he had been pacing the sitting room the entire time. 

“Your, ah, friend is with child,” the medic said. 

August froze. “Are you certain?” 

“She has all the symptoms. I would say she is nearly three months along now, although she has only missed one bleeding, but sometimes that happens. 

“Oh,” was all August could manage. _Pregnant._ With Friedrich’s child. “You, ah…you will keep this all quiet, would you not?” he said, shifting uncomfortably and adding several extra coins to the velvet bag he handed the medic. “And…well, just so we are clear, I am not the father. The father is d—“

“Monsieur Beckendorf, I assure you, I am not the moral police,” the elderly man said, taking his money. “I have no desire to know your secrets or to spread rumors.” He sniffed and showed himself out. 

August found himself stalling outside Lise’s bedroom door. He did not know how to face her. He did not know if she was happy about the child or not. It would be illegitimate, of course. Finally, he worked up the nerve to knock and slowly opened the door when Lise’s voice informed him he was welcome to come in. 

“Did he tell you?” Lise asked him, not wasting any time. She was much bolder than he in these kinds of matters. August had noticed that a long time ago. 

“Yes. How do you…?”

“I hope it’s a boy. I hope he has Friedrich’s eyes. I will name him Charles if it’s a boy. Friedrich told me that he would want his child to carry his father’s name.” She smiled wistfully up at August. “Oh Monsieur Beckendorf, don’t you see? I will have something left of my love after all.” 

August shifted nervously. “Mademoiselle Lise, I’m afraid you won’t be able to go home now. Not with the baby. It would be too dangerous. An illegitimate child abroad is too much hassle and not enough danger for anyone to bother with. But in Romankrai…”

“Will we overstay our hospitality?” Lise’s smile faded. She pulled her blanket tighter around herself. “I do suppose… Well, I’m certain if my father could get some money to me I can find a way to live so as not to be in your way…” She smiled softly, but August could see the anguish in her eyes. _We only have each other now,_ he thought, the idea rather startling as he had never phrased it like that to himself before. But even if it were not so, he had sworn to Friedrich that he would take care of Lise. He would not turn her away. 

August went to sit by her bed and held her eyes so she would know he meant what he said. “Your welcome here is infinite, Mlle Lise. Yours and your child’s.”


	2. Chapter 2

Little Charles looked so much like his father that it took August’s breath away. He had Friedrich’s grey-blue eyes and Friedrich’s ginger curls, the same smile and the same light sparked in his eyes when he was excited or fascinated. He was braver though. The boy would try to climb the garden walls and to run around the fountains, along their narrow marble ledges. This fearlessness he got from his mother. But otherwise, every time August looked at Charles he saw Friedrich, and something heavy compressed his chest so that it was hard to breathe. 

Five-and-a-half years after Friedrich’s death, August still had not managed to let go. It was not a sadness he held onto intentionally, but it was nonetheless there. Initially, he focused on rebuilding his life back in Grafschtum, which took up a good deal of his time and attention. After Lise gave birth and the dangers of a difficult pregnancy had passed, August spent two years going back and forth between Kielnburg and the estate. He entered the Grafschtum diplomatic service after raising some of his father’s old connections and leveraging his experience at the Romankrai court. All the spare time he had, August spent at the estate with LIse and Charles. 

What had developed between him and Lise during that time could perhaps be called a friendship. What they truly were was two people raising a child together in a situation which neither had asked for. If Lise had initially been wary of him, his tenderness toward her son soon allayed her fears. Her own time was so consumed by the child that August wondered if she treated her duties as a mother the way he treated his service – a convenient way to forget, just for a while, all the pain and how neither of them could truly call this house _home._

As for Charles, August adored him the way one adores the mirror image of someone they’d once loved and lost. He brought him toys and sweets from the capital, fussed over the best nannies and tutors, and took to looking after the boy whenever Lise needed to get some rest. In another life, he probably would have made a half-decent father. 

Charles certainly thought so. August would never forget the night a two-year-old Charles crawled into his lap as he sat reading the paper by the fireplace and, smiling broadly, tried to call him Papa. August had gone very still, petrified and stunned, honored in a way. Then, very gently, he lifted the boy up and set him down on the floor. “No, dear boy. Just August.” _Your father is dead._ He looked up then, distracted by the squeaking of the floorboards. Lise stood in the doorway, watching them closely. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, not quite meeting her eyes. 

“Don’t be.” She paced forward and scooped Charles up into her arms. “My son will never have a father, Monsieur Beckendorf. But I’m glad he has you.” 

August sometimes watched Lise play with Charles in the gardens. The summer sun painted auburn streaks in her otherwise brown hair. Charles loved to play with his mother’s curls – small, chubby fingers constantly attempting to untangle the elaborate bun that must have taken Lise’s maid half an hour to create. Charles would make his runs around the fountains and Lise tracked after him, one hand constantly outstretched, ready to catch the boy if he tripped. They wished on dandelions together, blowing their fragile, translucent feathers into the warm breeze. 

August wondered what Lise wished for these days. 

When the rains came in Charles’ fourth autumn, August took them to the lake. The sun hardly came out and the sky was grey and heavy, already pregnant with a new storm, though the last one had ended just the other night. August taught Charles how to fly a kite. Then, he attached a second line and lit it on fire. 

The kite blazed and skittered across the sky, sparks flying everywhere. It came to rest somewhere in the middle of the lake. Charles laughed and cheered, oblivious to the sad looks August and Lise exchanged over his head. 

“We used to do this as kids,” August told her. 

She nodded, understanding whom he meant, and looked out over the water. “This seems like something Friedrich would have liked.” 

The winter before Charles’ fifth birthday, Lise convinced him to have a snowball fight with them. They built a large fort on an even patch of ground and August valiantly defended their creation as Lise and Charles bombarded it mercilessly with cannonballs made out of fresh, sticky snow. Lise was bright red from the running and the cold by the time they were done. At one point, she managed to tackle August into a high bank of snow. For a moment, she simply lay beside him, the skirt of her dress and his britches slowly soaking through. He looked over at her and she smiled brightly back, loose curls falling over her heart-shaped face. August could understand why Friedrich had fallen for her so quickly. Lise was pretty – in an unconventional sort of way, but pretty nonetheless. 

Lise began to laugh more as time went by, playing hide and seek or tag with her son among the rose hedges. One time, she came sharply around a turn and ran straight into August. Instinctively, he put his arms out to catch her and ended up encircling her waste. She blushed and stepped away, murmuring, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re happy.”

She gave him an accusatory look, understanding that he resented her, if just a little, for beginning to move on. _I miss him as much as you do. Every day,_ that gaze said, _but I have my son to live for. I cannot live in the past forever._

Sometimes, August envied her. 

But envy or not, he was glad that they were happy and it gave him some small measure of comfort, watching LIse and Charles play in the sun, their laughter mixing with the gurgle of the fountains and chirping of the birds. On those days, he sat in the shade of the apple trees and watched in a dreamy haze a life that should have been Friedrich’s, but is neither his nor his own. 

Deep inside, August saw that the most irregular of situations was starting to build up. He had created a new life for himself, a life at the family’s estate, with a woman who was neither his wife nor his lover and her son. Friedrich’s son. But he would not trade it for anything these days, because Lise and Charles were, his sister aside, the closest thing to family he had left.

And if they were happy, perhaps he had managed to keep his last promise and do right by Friedrich after all. 

***

At midday, the parliament halls were full and buzzing with the latest political news and gossip. The Privy Council had been meeting for the past two weeks and the entire diplomatic corps was impatiently awaiting the results of these sessions. 

The latest letters from the ambassador in Romankrai had been placating but not without the edge of constant concern. In the past five years, Grafschtum had lived in constant fear of a new war. The fact that Romankrai was suffering through a fiscal disaster was perhaps the only reason that one had not broken out. However, now that the drought had broken, the ambassador wrote, no doubt the Princess would begin to look forward to giving the military what she has been promising them for the past few years. Everyone was terribly concerned about what diplomatic strategy was best to employ in the current situation. The Prince was not averse to war, but understood the weaknesses of their military in case of a direct attack. 

August stood in the main waiting room outside the Privy Council chamber waiting for dispatches. Once the council adjourned and he was given reports to relay back to his superiors, he would be free to return home. Traveling by horseback it would be a matter of a few hours and with any luck he would make it back to the estate by dinner. 

“Monsieur Beckendorf?”

August turned at the sound of his name. The speaker’s light accent made him squint. _Romankrai diplomat?_ He did not instantly recognize the man before him. He was young – a carrier, most likely – wearing a Romankrai diplomatic uniform and a carefully blank expression. “Yes?” August said, watching uncertainly as the boy came to stand beside him.

They were standing at the window, facing away from the bustling civil servants coming and going from the waiting room. When the boy spoke, he was careful to do so quietly and not annunciate too clearly. “I am the personal aid of Councilor Alexander Shugalov. He asked me to give this to you. Discreetly.”

August felt the scratch of thick paper against his wrist and glanced down. The boy was trying to slip a folded up and hastily sealed note into his hands. Recognizing Shugalov’s personal seal and not wanting the exchange to be seen and, most likely, misinterpreted by prying eyes, August snatched the note and tucked it away into his sleeve. “Anything else?” he asked. 

“Don’t be seen.” With those words, the boy melted back into the stream of people behind them. 

***

August made it back to the estate just as the sun began to set. His thoughts were preoccupied with Shugalov’s note which gave only a time and place for a rendezvous and the line: _It’s about Friedrich’s son._

The fact that Shugalov knew about Charles disconcerted August, but he was not terribly surprised. Lise and Charles spent most of their days at the estate, but they were not in hiding. It was no impossible that people had recognized them and that the information had gotten back to Romankrai. What worried August more was that Shugalov had personally come to Grafschtum to, apparently, discuss Charles with him. The secretive manner in which the whole affair was being conducted worried him even more. August had a feeling that this was either a trap or incredibly stupid and unsafe. 

He was lost in thought as he came into the front hall and hung up his travel coat. In his preoccupation, he did not notice Charles standing at the bottom of the stares with a toy sword and a mysterious expression until he almost bumped into the boy. “Oh, hello Charles. What are you doing here?”

“I’m standing guard. I’m not supposed to allow you upstairs.”

August raised an eyebrow at him. “Why not?”

Charles shifted. “Mama doesn’t want you to see it until it’s done. She’s afraid you will disapprove.” 

“Of what?” _What has Lise gotten up to now?_

 __“The decorations.”

Of course. Lise was re-doing the nursery. “I know about those,” August said with a laugh, reaching out to ruffle Charles’ hair affectionately. “Come now, let’s go see if your mother is finished.” 

Lise was not finished. Entering the nursery, August was greeted with the sight of Lise standing on a wooden footstool, stretching up on tiptoe as she attempted to hang the new curtains she had gone to the neighboring village to order last week. The setting sun pouring through the window lit up her hair and made her skin glow a warm beige. The strained expression on her face was softened by a half-smile, which she always had when doing something she enjoyed. August froze for a moment, taking in the lovely picture she made.

The curtains Lise was putting up were a pleasant, light green, populated with… “Are those…goats?”

Lise, who had been completely focused on her task, jumped in surprise. She caught herself on the side of the windowpane, managing to not fall from her perch on the footstool. “Gods, August, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Charles, I thought I told you to not let him come up here?”

“Uncle August said he knew about the decorations!” Charles pouted. He looked from his mother to August with a small pout, which reminded August painfully of Friedrich. 

“Don’t laugh at the goats,” Lise said, giving him a pointed look. 

August shrugged. “I’m not laughing.” He did have to smile, however. “But why goats?”

“Why not? They are wonderful creatures.” Lise continued with the curtains even as she spoke. “They’re generous and hardworking and kind. That’s exactly the sort of person I want you to strive to be, Charles. Let the goats remind you.”

“I have never thought of goats like that,” August said, both mildly baffled and amused. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. 

“Well don’t you think so?” Lise glanced over at him briefly. “They produce so many things: wool, cheese, milk. They work hard to draw carts and carry loads on their backs. As for kind, well, I’ve read that goats are terribly intelligent and curious and that they make the most warm and loyal companions. I’ve never owned a goat so I cannot be completely certain.”

This time August laughed. Lise had finished putting up the curtains, so he walked over to her and offered her his hand. “Would you like a goat of your own to find out?”

She swatted at his shoulder, then took his hand and stepped down from the footstool. “You’re making fun of me again.”

“Not at all.” He wasn’t, really. Lise came up with the most absurd things sometimes, but he liked that about her. Sometimes she saw things the way no one else would, certainly not August, who conformed to conventions a little too much, perhaps. “Come, let us have dinner. There’s a matter I must discuss with you after.” 

He might not agree with her about goats, but at some point, he had made up his mind that keeping Shugalov’s note a secret was probably unwise. 

***

“Councilor Shugalov gave this to you personally?” Lise asked. She fingered the note’s broken seal, lost in thought. They sat in August’s study after dinner; Charles had been sent upstairs to play in the nursery under the watchful eye of his nurse. 

“Not exactly. His personal assistant approached me while I was waiting for dispatches from the Privy Council.” August sat back, trying to figure out what LIse was thinking from the bits of emotion that flickered across her face. “It must be important or he would not have come himself. He’s also being very secretive, which worries me.”

“What could he possibly want with Charles?” Lise finally looked up at him. “He’s just a child. An illegitimate child at that.” 

“I don’t know,” August admitted. “I’m seriously considering ignoring this. I can’t help but think…”

“What?”

He sighed, pressing the heal of his palm to his temple, thinking. “I can’t help but think that it’s a trap of some kind. Perhaps they’ve decided to get rid of Charles after all.” 

Lise took in a deep, ragged breath. “After all these years? Why now? We haven’t harmed anyone, we haven’t even returned home. Besides, why ask you to come to a meeting if what they want is my boy?”

“Maybe they think you will come too, since the subject is your child. Maybe they want to get rid of you as well. Or perhaps they want me out of the house at a known time. I don’t know.”

Her look was skeptical. “This is a terribly clumsy way to achieve all of that.”

“I know.” She was right, but August didn’t trust Shugalov any further than he could throw him, which wasn’t far at all.

“Besides, what motive would Shugalov have to aid Camille in hurting us?” She stood and began to pace. “He was always loyal to Friedrich, up to the very end. He lost his position at court for it.”

August wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t for fear of upsetting her. “Shugalov is a politician. His loyalty is primarily to himself. He knew that if Camille took over, she would not keep him in his comfy position on the Privy Council no matter what he did. His only choice was to stick with Friedrich. Friedrich took away his precious Secret Chancellery and Camille brought it back. He has far more reason to be loyal to her than to the memory of a Prince who can longer help him.”

Lise stopped her pacing and frowned. “But Camille never made him head of the new Chancellery.”

“Maybe this is his way of trying to get that post back.” August shrugged helplessly. “I really don’t know.”

They were silent for a moment. Then, very purposely, Lise came back to sit beside him on the sofa. “I think you should meet with him,” she said, her words slow but determined. “We cannot say anything for certain until at least hearing what he has to say. Whatever his plan, I doubt it is something that will play out in its entirety that night.” After a pause, she added, obviously to placate him, “Charles and I can stay with the Aderholts that evening until you return.” 

August met her eyes, saw the glimmer of some strange, raw hope in them and instantly felt even worse about this idea. But he also could not bring himself to say no to her. “Alright. I’ll meet him.”

*** 

The hunting cabin that Shugalov had chosen for their meeting was far enough away from the city and off the main roads to provide a general guarantee of privacy. However, the area itself was well kept and August assumed that the cabin itself was owned by a contact of Shugalov’s, perhaps someone working for the Romankrai diplomatic mission but perhaps not. Either way, if anyone noticed, it was not the most illogical place for several men to go, especially if they were planning to stay for a hunting turn as well. 

Dusk was slowly settling into darkness by the time August reached the cabin. Light in the windows indicated that he was not first to arrive. The curtains were drawn. He counted two horses tied up near the front porch. The fact that they had not been taken to the barn, which also functioned as the stables, most likely meant that Shugalov was not planning to stay very long. 

August tied his horse to a tree on the opposite side of the porch and cautiously made his way toward the front door. He was acutely aware of the cold, unfamiliar metal of the pistol he had taken with him. It was tucked comfortably under his cloak in a holster belt that used to belong to his father. His sword he wore in plain view. It was less threatening than a gun, but he wanted Shugalov to know he was not about to be bullied either. 

August took a deep breath, then knocked. 

Footsteps, then the scraping of the lock and a small slither of light as the door was opened a crack. “It’s Beckendorf,” August said. 

“Let him in.” Shugalov’s voice floated to him from the depths of the cabin. 

The door closed, then reopened after the latch was thrown off. August found himself facing the same boy who had slipped him the note at the parliament. “Come in quickly,” the boy said in a rush, ushering him in. 

_He’s nervous,_ August thought.

“In here, Monsieur Beckendorf.”

August followed Shugalov’s voice into a side room. The former Privy Council member stood behind a large table. On it was a map, a couple of document portfolios, a bottle of wine and three candles. “This is romantic,” August said snidely, eyeing the document holders wearily as well as glancing around the room for clues of some hidden plot. 

“About as romantic as you living with Lise Krumkach,” Shugalov parried. 

August was not in the mood for jokes. “What is it you are here for, My Lord?”

Shugalov smirked smugly and sat down with a deliberate air, as though to say he was not in a rush. August was acutely aware of Shugalov’s assistant taking a post at the door to the room. Having someone at his back made August nervous, so he went to sit across the table from Shugalov where he could see the boy out of the corner of his eye. “I hear Lise’s son looks a lot like his father. That he was born only six months after she fled the country. I also hear that she named him Charles,” Shugalov said. 

August fought to meet his eyes without flinching. That Romankrai had spies, he knew. But that did not make hearing any of this much easier. “What else do you know?” 

“Not much, though that may surprise you. Princess Camille has little interest in the illegitimate child of her deceased husband. Most of what I know comes from private sources.” 

“I would rather we not play games, My Lord,” August said. This meeting had just began and he was already tired. He distrusted Shugalov and he wanted little to nothing to do with Romankrai ever again. If Camille had no interest in Charles – or Lise – then he was content to never think about that country again. 

Shugalov leaned in slightly and put a hand on one of the document portfolios. “The Princess does not have an interest. However, I do. As do others.” He pulled a long scroll from the portfolio and held it out to August. 

Slowly, holding Shugalov’s gaze, August took the scroll and unrolled it. 

Then he read it. 

The words did not register at first. As soon as he realized what was before him, his mind seemed to lose all ability for comprehension. The document, written in Friedrich’s hand and bearing the royal seal was so improbable, so fantastical that it had to be a hallucination or some kind of mistake. “This cannot be real,” he said finally. “Friedrich did not know Lise was pregnant. Even she did not know.” 

Shugalov did not seem deterred. “Is that not his hand? His signature?”

August swallowed. It was. “Yes.” 

“And is that not the royal seal?” 

“Yes.” August forced himself to concentrate. “A forgery?” 

“It would have to be a damn good one.”

August looked back at the document – a royal order legitimizing Charles as Friedrich’s son and heir to the throne. Charles. A Prince. A _legitimate_ Prince with a place in the succession for the throne of Romankrai. 

August felt like he was drowning. This changed…everything. “Who else knows about this?” he asked, ice-cold terror beginning to seep into his consciousness. _All this time I was certain we were safe._

 __“A very narrow circle.” Shugalov’s tone made August look up. The courtly mannerisms and smug smirk were gone. He was deadly serious. “I’m sure you realize that if Princess Camille knew that a legitimate claimant to the throne existed, she would take action.

August nodded. “Where did you even get this?”

“Prince Friedrich gave them to me for safe keeping the night before the coup. He said he feared that he could lose the power struggle against Camille and did not trust to keep certain papers in his own quarters because that would be the first place his ill-wishers would look. He gave me the legitimization order for his unborn child and a draft of the non-aggression treaty with Grafschtum. Note that the date on the document is just several days before the coup. The Prince was obviously preparing for the worst.” 

_If he was preparing for the worst, he should have left the country,_ August thought bitterly, _not prepared papers that would put his son in mortal danger._ He was hurt that Friedrich had trusted Shugalov more than him and he was angry that Friedrich had understood the extent of the danger and had done _nothing_ to insure his own safety. He glanced down at the legitimization scroll and felt his heart constrict painfully _Oh but how Friedrich had wanted a child. An heir of his very own._

 __“After the coup,” Shugalov continued, “I kept the papers in case they were ever of use.”

“What use could they possibly be?” August asked, almost earnestly. “Friedrich is dead, Camille is in power. This only puts Charles in danger. If you were ever loyal to Friedrich, or have enough decency to care about the safety of an innocent child, you ought to burn this and forget it ever existed.” August pushed the scroll back toward Shugalov.

Shugalov was shaking his head. “I don’t think you understand, Monsieur Beckendorf. When Princess Camille took power, her main supporters were the military and those nobles who were opposed to Prince Friedrich’s reforms. They were mostly old conservative types or those who were having trouble advancing at court. The political climate, as you might recall, was incredibly affected by Romankrai’s recent defeat in the war with Killark.”

“The constant disputes over the borderlands and the Cobinyos trading routs,” August said, nodding. He knew all this. “The military wanted revenge. They wanted blood. Friedrich had wanted peace. Not with Killark though.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Shugalov shrugged. “The Prince was working on a treaty with Grafschtum, Killark’s greatest ally and supplier of valuable resources, which helped it win the war. It’s hard to say who was hated more – Killark or Grafschtum.” 

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with Charles.”

“Camille was able to recruit the military to her cause in two ways. One was the influence of her lover, Colonel Ptitsin.“

August made a face. He remember Ptitsin as an uneducated brute of a warmonger. What the crafty but intelligent Camille ever saw in him was beyond August’s comprehension. 

“Her other weapon, which was perhaps even more effective, was the promise of a new war. Not only that, but she promised to dole out conquered Killark lands to those high-ranking officers who supported her bid for power. But as you’ve probably noticed, despite the constant hysterics of your diplomats, there has yet to be a war.”

A nagging suspicion began to form in the back of August’s mind. It grew with every second, every word Shugalov said. The more he thought about why Friedrich was deposed and the current political situation in the region, the clearer the connections became. The end of the drought, the tensions in Romankrai, the small rebellions in the rural districts, the impatience of the military and Romankrai’s inability to afford a war, Shugalov’s sudden interest in Charles – it all added up to the one thing August refused to consider. 

“Friedrich was a popular Prince among the people. There was some dissatisfaction over his love for Grafschtum, but better a Prince who does not want revenge than a Princess who cares little for the problems of the common people.” Shugalov was pressing on, oblivious to August’s train of thought. “The nobility will never be fully united behind one leader, but there are enough of those who deplore Camille’s coup, who have been disenfranchised by her lustrations. They would put their considerable resources behind a…more legitimate ruler.”

August stood. “No.” 

A flicker or frustration skittered across Shugalov’s face but he remained calm. “You have not heard me out, Monsieur Beckendorf.” 

“I’ve heard enough. You want to stage a countercoup in Charles’ name. My answer is no.” 

“What about the boy’s mother? Shouldn’t she decide what is best for him? Do you think Mlle. Krumkach would not like to go home?” 

“Do not pretend like you care so much about Lise _or_ Charles, My Lord.” August felt seething anger begin to rise from deep inside him. All the pain of watching Friedrich fall to treason, losing someone so dear, having to watch Charles grow up without a father, and constantly living with a hole in his heart, which he did not think could ever be filled, swelled up and begun to overflow the barriers he put up against the world. It boiled and transformed, becoming anger and poisonous contempt. 

“Charles is the rightful heir to the throne. It is his birthright. Friedrich wanted his son to be legitimate. He—“

“Friedrich was a _fool._ ” The room fell silent. August, stunned by his own outburst, floundered for a moment before continuing. “Friedrich was frightened and naïve. He trusted his councilors, his generals, even Camille, whom he knew to be his enemy but still considered his wife even if in name only.” August could feel that he was losing control, his words spilling out of their own accord, guided by something so deep within him that he could not stop it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a small, snide voice was saying: _He trusted you too. He trusted you to keep him safe._ “And you all betrayed him! Abandoned him at the last moment. Not a single one of you Privy Councilors thought to stand up to Camille or to take charge of a resistance. No. Instead you all cowered and scattered like so many spiders, thinking primarily of how you could save your own necks, how to find favor in the new court!” Shugalov stood, but August was not finished. “What makes you think that I would _ever_ allow a child – allow Charles – to be a figurehead in your machinations. Your loyalty means nothing! You aren’t doing this out of duty – to Romankrai, to morality, anything. You are doing this because Camille would not let you have your precious Secret Chancellery back and you think that putting another on the throne might get you what you want.” 

“Be careful, Monsieur Beckendorf,” Shugalov said, the cold edges of his voice cutting razor-sharp across the heavy silence that fell after August’s outburst. “I do not take treason lightly. And may I remind you that if it were not for me, _none_ of you would be alive.”

“You were trying to save your own position. Camille has not exactly kept you on the Privy Council, has she?”

“I received my appointment two days before coming to Grafschtum. If you do not believe me…” Shugalov took out another document and slid it across the table to August. 

Dumbfounded, August took the scroll and quickly scanned it. It was, in fact, a Privy Council appointment bearing the royal seal. This did not make any sense and August dropped the document abruptly, as though it was a poisonous snake. He opened his mouth to speak, but could not find the right words to say. Certainly, Shugalov wanted _something_. But what? Unless this was all a trap as he had initially thought and Shugalov meant to lure Charles and Lise back to Romankrai in order to kill them or use them as pawns in some power-lobbying scheme. 

“I had to wait until I regained the Princess’ trust. She was having me watched before, so it would not have been safe to begin gathering support. I have only been able to make progress during the past year. With this appointment, I have more leverage in the government. I can _help_ , Beckendorf. I know you don’t trust me or anything to do with Romankrai, but I want to restore the succession. The rightful Prince should rule Romankrai, not a traitor.” 

August shook his head. “You must consider me insane if you think I would ever go back to that viper’s nest. Not to mention take a _child_ there. Friedrich would have been much better off if he stayed here. Charles will be too.” He began to head for the door. 

Shugalov caught up with him and forced the legitimization scroll into his hands. “ _Think_ about it. Burn the papers if you must, but really think about it. Are you depriving Charles of his birthright for his sake or so that you don’t have to face your own guilt?”


	3. Chapter 3

Lise, anxious about August’s meeting with Shugalov, had felt mildly ill and unable to keep up company with the Aderholts for the entire evening. She had left without waiting for August to come for her or send a carriage. After taking some valerian drops, she fell asleep on the sofa in the nursery while reading to Charles. August had found them curled up together, fast asleep, on his return to the estate. He stood in the doorway for several minutes, watching them sleep – safe, comfortable, together.

He would not let Shugalov destroy that with his political ambitions. 

August went down to the study and poured himself a glass of brandy to sooth away the tension that was still constricting his body like a vise. After a couple of drinks, he took out the scroll Shugalov had given him and re-read It, his eyes catching on every familiar curve of Friedrich’s loose, flowing cursive. _He had known he might lose and had made up papers for his son. A son that he did not even know existed._

It all seemed so wrong. What if what Friedrich had wanted _was,_ in fact, for his child to have a chance at the throne? But that was madness – Friedrich had never truly considered Romankrai home. It had caused him far more pain and misery than joy. Besides, these were all just guesses. What he did know was that Friedrich’s dying wish was for Lise to be safe, and if she got involved in a political game, she would certainly _not_ be safe. 

He thought of Lise, of snow in her brown curls, the dimples that came out when she smiled, her enthusiasm for goats. He pictured her asleep upstairs, holding onto her son like a life vest. Friedrich was dead and Lise was still alive, after all. He had to consider that as well. 

_She deserves to know._ August groaned and poured himself another drink. He did not want to tell her. Knowing Lise, she would rush headlong into this insane plot and end up… He could _not_ lose another person he cared about. _How strange,_ August thought, as the warmth of the alcohol began to spread through him. _I’ve spent the past five-six years with her, but it never occurred to me that I cared so much until now._ He rubbed at his eyes and scuffed. _You’re drunk, Beckendorf._

 __His eyes fell on the scroll again. An overwhelming wash of memories suddenly threatened to drown him and August could not take it anymore. No, it was better that he burn the papers. So much better. Like they never existed, like nothing ever happened. He had to do it now before his resolve faded and he began to feel guilty again about hiding things from Lise.

August’s hands trembled slightly as he brought the papers closer to the candle on the writing desk. He could feel the heat of the flame on his skin and knew that any moment now the thick paper would catch fire, the seal wax would melt and that final link to the past would be broken. But somehow, he could not bring himself to make the final move; the last inch felt like an opening schism. 

“August?”

Startled, August spun around, the papers clutched protectively against his chest. “Lise… What are you doing up?”

She was in her nightgown and a robe now, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She eyed the papers in his hands suspiciously and stepped forward, the clicking noise of the closing door echoing far too loudly in the silence of the sleeping house. “What is that?”

“It’s nothing.” 

She reached out, a determined expression on her face, as though demanding that he hand the scroll over to her. “That is what Shugalov wanted to give you, isn’t it?” The accusation in her voice was clear. 

August could not lie to her. He had no right, not now that she had caught him red-handed. Silently, he handed her the document. 

Squinting in the dim light, Lise read it, the corners of her lips trembling slightly when she recognized Friedrich’s handwriting. “These are…legitimization papers,” she said slowly. “But how could Friedrich have known? How did he know that it would be a boy, that his name would be Charles?”

“I don’t think he knew,” August said. “I think he just hoped. Blindly hoped, like Friedrich always did. He gave the papers to Shugalov where he thought they would be safest before leaving. I suppose…he was prepared to die.” 

For a moment, Lise did not raise her eyes, when she finally did they were full of hurt. “You were going to burn these. Without even telling me.”

August sighed. He sat down in the closest chair and looked up at her, pleadingly. “I knew this would upset you.”

“You think I’m upset because Friedrich legitimized our son? August, I’m mad because you tried to hide something so important from me!”

“What difference does it make now, though? Charles is only in greater danger if he is legitimate. No one cares much for illegitimate children, but now he has a claim to the throne—“ He broke off, suddenly anxious. He did not want Lise to get any terrible ideas. Perhaps he could still save this. Lise did not need to know about the planned countercoup. If only he hadn’t drank so much, he would be able to think more clearly. 

“The succession.” Her eyes were suddenly bright. In the candlelight, her agitation was visible by the bright red spots on her cheeks. “That’s why Shugalov wanted to talk to you.” 

“No!” August realized a moment too late how quickly he jumped to protest. “No,” he repeated, more calmly. 

“Yes. They want Charles to be the Prince. August… Shugalov offered you support for a countercoup didn’t he?”

“No.” He shook his head. This was not happened, it could not be happening. 

“Yes, he did.” She stopped suddenly, realizing that he was nowhere near as enthusiastic about the idea as she. “You think it’s a bad idea.”

“Of course I think it’s a bad idea!” He stood again and grabbed her hand, held it tightly so she would not be able to pull away. “If you try this, Lise, you will be killed. Your son will be killed.” _I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to fail him_ again. __

__“We will be careful. You don’t really think I want my own son dead, do you?”

“No, of course not.” 

“But why not at least consider the idea? Charles deserves to have his birthright; he deserves to rule. Is the fact that he is my son and not Princess Camille’s have that much impact on the matter? And if it did, this—“ she held up the legitimization order “—fixes that particular problem.” 

“Shugalov cannot be trusted. All he cares is his own position. Camille has granted him an appointment to the Privy Council. As soon as she does that, he comes here. Does that sound trustworthy to you?”

Lise bit her lip. He could see fear in her expression now, as well as excitement. But Lise was stubborn. “Shugalov was Friedrich’s closest advisor and most trusted ally—“

“And look where it got him!”

“He’s all we have right now!” Lise shouted, completely abandoning all pretense of propriety. “He is _the only_ chance we have right now. Maybe he’s lying, and I agree that we ought to be cautious until we have a better understanding of what is happening. But I have to at least try. It’s the only chance Charles has to rule, the only chance I have to go home!”

Her last words resonated painfully in August’s mind, echoing and distorting until they became vicious accusations. All that they had managed to build over the past six years had come to naught. So this was what they disagreed on then – not what would be better for Charles or safer for her, but whether the life she had here was _valuable._ “So that’s what you’re thinking about?” he asked, poisonous notes leaking out from under the façade of sudden, forced calm. Hurt turned to contempt before he could reason it away. “Not Charles’ safety but whether or not you get to go back to Romankrai? Forget that that country and that court does nothing but traumatize and betray the children it gets ahold of. You just want to _go home._ ”

Lise’s expression changed. The hurt in her eyes now reflected what August felt. “Romankrai is my country, Monsieur Beckendorf. I understand that you can’t love it like I do. But it’s home to me the way Grafschtum is home to you and was for Friedrich. He always talked about the summers here, and the fountains in Kielnburg’s central plaza, about how mild the winders are. He told me of the forests and how blue the sky is in late May. The violin galas at the opera house and the hawking expeditions during the hunting season. Friedrich felt a duty to do right by Romankrai and its people. But he never loved it the way he loved Grafschtum. Don’t you remember wanting to go home?”

He did. Especially the first couple of years. He missed his sister and Adolf Aderholt and Kielnburg. But Friedrich had meant more. So much more. “Not really,” he said. “Home was with Friedrich and Friedrich was in Romankrai.” 

Lise smiled sadly. “Well I don’t have anyone like that here.” She turned on her heal and left the room before August could come up with a response. He knew she had said that to hurt him. But it did not make it untrue. 

He sank down on the chair and stared blankly at the opposite wall. _What a mess._

***

The next morning was grey and misty. Rain threatened from the North and the East, blocking out the sun. August found Lise on the front porch wrapped in a shawl and lost in thought. He came to stand beside her, leaning heavily against the bannister. 

“I didn’t sleep,” he said after a moment of silence. 

It took her a moment to answer. “I didn’t either.” 

“I’m…I’m sorry about…about yesterday. I was drunk.” A flock of crows took to the air in the distance, their calls piercing, almost ominous. “I shouldn’t have tried to keep Charles’ legitimacy from you. It wasn’t my place. You’re his mother and you should be able to decide what is best for him.” He swallowed and looked down at the ground. He could feel her eyes on him now, piercing and watchful. But he had to say this. “I know you must miss your parents and your sister. Romankrai is your home and I can offer you something like safety here, but that’s about it.”

“That’s not true.” 

He ignored the denial. “I’m afraid, Lise. That’s all. Afraid of losing you and Charles. Afraid of failing my vows once again. I won’t tell you that this is a good idea, but I suppose you will find a way to meet with Shugalov regardless, so it makes no difference.” Finally, he looked up at her. 

She was looking at him with something between hope and frustration. “You’re right. I will do this with or without you, August. But I would rather do it with you. Not because you have political ties, or for money or anything like that. I want to do this with you because you’re my friend. Because we both care about Charles. Because we suffered the _same_ loss at the hands of Camille and her supporters.” She looked away, blinking rapidly. “But I will strive for my son’s birthright and I will strive to avenge the man I loved. Alone if I must.” She turned to go, hastily trying to get away in case he had heard the last hitch in her voice. 

August caught her wrist making her turn around. “I said I don’t like this idea. But you know me very little if you think I’d let you walk into this alone.” 

It took a while for the words to register. When they did, Lise let out a delighted laugh and threw herself into his arms. 

August embraced her and chided himself for being a sentimental fool after all. 

***

“My Lady.” Shugalov stood as soon as he saw Lise.

Lise, unaccustomed to being addressed this way, flushed and dropped a curtsey before offering her hand to Shugalov. “Lord Shugalov, I appreciate the risks you are taking meeting with us here.” 

August restrained from rolling his eyes. He had managed to arrange the second meeting with Shugalov with less fuss than he had initially expected. Shugalov assured him that he had surrounded himself with people sympathetic to their cause, so their meetings would remain discrete and unquestioned. 

They sat at the table as Lise and Shugalov exchanged pleasantries. “I am sure you are dying for news about your family, My Lady,” Shugalov said, giving Lise a knowing smile, which struck August as frustratingly condescending, despite the earlier show of reverence. “Your father is well. He is still at court and part of the State Advisory, though not on the Privy Council.” 

“I hear you have been reinstate to the Council, My Lord,” Lise said, watching Shugalov closely. August smirked, pleased that she seemed to be taking his advice to not trust the Councilor to heart. 

“My hope is that my position will help in our present matter,” Shugalov said, unfazed. “It is also a sign of trust. The Princess has lost some of her vigilance.” 

“And Dasha?”

“Your sister is also well. She is a lady-in-waiting to Princess Camille.” 

Lise nodded slowly. “Is she…part of this?”

Shugalov shook his head. “No. Your father is however.”

“My father?”

“Lord Krumkach lost his position under Princess Camille, I suspect he has no love for her. He is also looking forward to bringing you home.” 

August watched Lise’s face. She was forcing back a smile, practically _biting_ it back. He remembered, vaguely, her saying at one point that she did not think her father would miss her much. She had never been quite the daughter he had wanted – not very pretty, not very graceful, too straightforward, and the mistress of a married man. But apparently, she had judged him a little harshly. 

“Did you bring Prince Charles with you?” Shugalov asked, speaking primarily to Lise.

“No, no. We did not see a need, or think it safe really. If this is to go forward, we were actually thinking that Charles might need to be taken somewhere…safer at some point.” 

“Of course.” August thought he saw a flicker of disappointment cross Shugalov’s face, but perhaps he’d imagined it. 

The rest of the meeting went into discussion of the current political landscape of Romankrai. The people – indoctrinated into the faith that a stable country has a stable monarchy and a stable monarchy is one that follows the strict rules of succession – would support Charles without question. His father’s economic reforms, which allowed for more exports, as well as the laws that increased imprisonment times for crimes by nobility against the common people had been incredibly popular with the merchant class and the peasantry respectively. The abolition of the Secret Chancellery, known for torture, had been popular with everyone. 

Most of the nobility could either be convinced to follow the laws of succession or be bought. The seven-member Privy Council was split in their loyalties. Shugalov and Rudenko were Friedrich loyalists, Rusalkin, who had always admired and lusted after Princess Camille, would never be on their side. This was bothersome only in that he had great influence with many members of the State Advisory. Genera Kiskin liked order and stability but could be reasoned with. As a military man, discipline held sway with him, so a rightful heir probably would too. Rumin had never liked Friedrich, but his loyalties laid primarily with the state than with a particular monarch. The other two members had no loyalties beyond their own pockets, and Lise’s father was currently utilizing the family’s extensive resources to sway their favor. 

Inside the State Advisory – which handled administrative mattered, commanded the bureaucracy and proposed legislation – loyalties were harder to ascertain. Glebov and Volkov, who had always been and remained loyal to Friedrich and his line, were popular among their peers and considered top legal minds. Lord Krumkach also held considerable power. Some members of the Advisory were staunchly loyal to Camille, for she had elevated many of them to their position of power. However, Shugalov’s estimates were that the necessary two-thirds of the Advisory would proclaim for Charles as the rightful heir, if not at this point, then with some political maneuvering. 

It would be easier if Charles was of age, or if Camille could be appointed Regent, but since Camille would never allow Friedrich’s son by his mistress to reign, she would need to be removed. Some nobles would certainly balk at this, for the Regency was Camille’s by right, as Friedrich’s lawful wife. In fact, the question of who would be the Regent turned out to be of great concern. August had a deep distrust of Regencies and Lise would not have someone making decisions for her son. 

“I have no desire for power myself,” she told Shugalov tiredly. They had been deep in discussion for several hours. “But I do not trust some one person to make decisions in the name of my son. If anyone has the right to make the decisions for him it’s me. I am his mother after all.”

“My Lady, with all due respect, the Advisory is not likely to support you as a Regent. For all that you are Lord Krumkach’s daughter, some traditions are simply…” he broke off, making a vague gesture. “And we would need the support of the Advisory. They must proclaim for Charles if his reign is to have political support. Many would, reasonably, want to keep Princess Camille as Regent. But, of course, that is likely only to result in Prince Charles’ death.”

Lise shivered at the thought. After a moment, she said, “Does the Regent have to be one person?”

Shugalov considered this. “Traditionally, that is how it has been. But I am not aware of any law that specifically forbids some other form of Regency. What do you have in mind?”

“Perhaps the Privy Council could act as Regent. The Councilors would need to collaborate and vote on decisions. At least in this respect, there won’t be any one person making decisions.” 

“This could help appease the nobility. Those on the Council would have more power and the Advisory in general would have more say,” August put in. “If I remember correctly, in situations when the Council may act on behalf of the Prince, they must have the majority support of the Advisory.” 

“That’s a lot of voting and a lot of power decentralization. It may be hard to put everyone back in order once Charles comes of age. Besides, the constant infighting and factions—“

“There is always infighting and factions.” August rolled his eyes unceremoniously. “And it makes more sense than putting power into the hands of one man. Who would you suggest as Regent, Councilor? Yourself?”

Shugalov bristled, but August could see he had hit a nerve. He caught Lise’s eye for a moment and she nodded to show she understood. “It may resolve our problem to begin with, at least,” Shugalov acquiesced. “It also helps with getting General Kiskin on our side. We need more generals to join our cause. I’m afraid we are lost without the army.” 

It soon became clear that things were far more difficult where the army stood. Aside from Colonel Vernov and a few captains scattered throughout five-six other regiments, the majority of the officer corps would not be easily roused to support a new coup. If General Kiskin’s support could be had, that would be a step in the right direction. Because the Crown did not have enough money to support the entirety of its military force, six divisions were funded by some ten noble families. If the heads of those families could be swayed, so could the commanders if they wanted to retain their commissions. 

The meeting ended in a state of considerate exhaustion. August felt the overflow of information starting to settle into his bones. Shugalov had obviously been working on this scheme for a while. He and his closest allies had not considered for a moment that Lise would turn down their efforts and choose a calmer life for her son. It was frustrating, but he had to admit they were right. Lise, who had never struck August as particularly fluent or interest in politics, took a hot interest in the plans. She received directions from Shugalov to address letters through her father. August was to be the point of contact for Shugalov’s men as they could meet with relative ease at the parliament in Kielnburg. 

“Do you really think this will work?” August asked as they drove home. The meeting had taken all night and the sky was growing light in the East. 

“I don’t know.” She put her head on his shoulder, pressing her body against his for comfort and warmth. “But we have to try.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next few months took them through the winter. 

August and Lise spent the long, snowy nights writing letters and making plans. They arranged for a safehouse and initiated Adolf Aderholt, a Grafschtum diplomat and August’s childhood friend, into their plans. Meetings with Shugalov slowly came to an end for he had little valid reason to make frequent trips to Grafschtum. Some elaborate maneuvering got Volkov a diplomatic post in Kielnburg and he became their new point of contact. 

The initial rousing excitement of this plot began to wear off after the first couple of months. If asked to speak honestly, August would say that he still disapproved. But the rhythm of the work soothed him after the initial fears abated. What had at first seemed like a wild goose chase, an impossible mission full of assassins in the night and fighting out of ambushes, turned to be far more formulaic, almost like his daily work for the diplomatic corps. Letters upon letters filled with promises and compromises, constant calculating of what the tipping point would be, moving Charles’ toy soldiers around on a map of Romankrai to signify where different regiments were usually deployed and trying to predict what would happen if only a fifth defect, as opposed to half. 

Lise feared civil war. August feared less and less for anything at all as the days went by. 

Toward the end of the winter, things began to come to a head. Shugalov wrote that rumors were beginning to spread and soon they would reach the Princess if they had not already. Volkov urged them to start making arrangements to relocate Charles to the safehouse and to begin preparing him for his role. Lise’s father wrote that perhaps it was time for her to return to Romankrai so that she could be in the center of events. Upon discussion, however, it was decided that Lise ought to stay with Charles in Grafschtum until the deciding moment and August would go to Romankrai as part of the diplomatic mission to keep a closer eye on things. 

Charles’ sixth birthday was during August’s last week in Grafschtum. 

***

“I have this idea,” August told Lise as they settled down for a nightcap in the downstairs study, which had become a sort of miniature headquarters over the last few months. “Tell me if it’s crazy, because I’ve definitely had a couple of drinks already.” 

Lise yawned and sat down as well. She opened and poured out a glass of brandy for each of them. The guests from the small birthday party they had had for Charles had dispersed a couple of hours ago but between directing the cleanup and putting Charles to bed, this was the first chance they had to be alone. “Is this something you came up with just now?”

“No, I’ve been thinking about it for some time, actually.”

“Go on, then. It can’t be that crazy if _you_ conceived it while sober.”

“It’s about the treaty Friedrich had been negotiating with Grafschtum before the coup. Such negotiations would have been impossible with Camille – such a move did not fit her platform and no one trusts her here – but the _idea_ itself was obviously agreeable to Prince Broderick .”

“I suppose. What about it?”

“What if…what if we could get that treaty signed? Have Grafschtum agree to join Romankrai in a fight against Killark if Charles takes the throne.”

Lise blinks at him uncertainly. “Why would they do that? Killark has been Grafschtum’s ally for many-many years.”

“We could offer Grafschtum a cut from the trade with Cobinyos.” 

Lise shook her head. “The whole point of fighting over the borderlands with Killark is that they make us pay fines and taxes in order to pass through to Cobinyos when those lands are under their control. If we give a cut to Grafschtum it’s like we’re paying taxes anyway.”

“Alright, different option. We can offer Grafschtum a trade agreement. The same one they have with Killark. Except it is easier for them to trade with Romankrai than with Killark because the merchants have to _sale_ to get to Killark while we’re neighbors. The costs and risks are much less. Also, they are safer this way. Killark will not support Grafschtum if Romankrai attacks them, they also have little need to feud with a Principality so far away. Besides, the treaty was considered before, why not now?”

Lise took a long drink of the brandy. “Let’s assume Prince Broderick agrees. What do we get out of this, aside from a peace agreement if…when Charles takes the throne?”

“I think it could be something to leverage for support of the generals. Romankrai can win against Killark in a war for the borderlands but _not_ if Grafschtum keeps supplying them resources, arms and even men. If we have Grafschtum on our side, even passively, we can have the borderlands. Not without them.”

Lise shook her head. “This is what Friedrich wanted. They still hated him.”

“Friedrich had terrible timing,” August said, smiling sadly but not without nostalgic affection. “He also never framed the treaty in this light. He was so focused on peace between his two countries and trying to avoid a fiscal disaster that he didn’t even consider the treaty from this perspective. At least not in the short run.” 

“Alright…” She set aside her empty glass and began to play with her hair as she sometimes did when thinking hard. “I’m also thinking that Princess Camille, once she realizes that there may be support for a countercoup, may feel compelled to start that war with Killark she’s been promising but putting off. Once she starts losing…such an arrangement might make more sense.” 

August smiled, feeling a rush of sudden elation. “Exactly!” Over the last few months, they had begun to understand each other very well, gained the ability to ascertain what the other was thinking, traded strategies and worldviews. They had become partners as well as friends. 

“But you’re leaving so soon?” Lise stood and walked over to the bookshelf. She stopped there, seemingly uncertain why she had moved in the first place. She wrung her hands in a surge of frustration. “There’s no time to meet with the Prince _and_ consult Councilor Shugalov.”

“I don’t think Shugalov should know,” August confessed. 

“Why not? August. Do you really still not trust him? After all this time?”

August shrugged. He had learned to not trust most people. “I can tell him later, once I’ve seen what things are like at the Romankrai court. I just…I just want there to be something he’s not aware of. Just in case he is reporting back to Camille. I want to make sure we can still keep a step ahead.” 

‘If you say so.” She did not sound fully convinced but August had learned that if Lise was not arguing, she was most likely agreeing. “When can we meet with the Prince?”

“I will try to get a private audience for the end of the week tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

They fell silent. Something heavy had settled into the air. Not uncomfortable but oppressive, like they were missing something right in front of their noses. August stood. “We should get some sleep.”

Lise nodded, but suddenly she was not looking at him. “Goodnight,” she said softly, but her voice was very quiet, almost strained. 

August turned at the door. “Are you alright?”

She glanced up at him, then looked away quickly. “Yes, I’m just… For the first time I think I’m anxious about all this. It’s actually happened. And you’re leaving…”

“It won’t be for that long.” He took several steps toward her, meaning to offer reassurance. She looked up at him, this time longer, meeting his eyes. Hers were full of emotion – large brown eyes, completely open and vulnerable. 

“I know. But I can’t help but feel afraid, suddenly. We’ve been in this together for so long, and I don’t mean just the plot, but everything. And I don’t know if I could stand it if something happened to you—“ 

Suddenly, he was kissing her, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, the other weaved into her hair. Her lips tasted of brandy and, strangely, fresh barriers. August’s head swam, a dreamlike haze covering all his thoughts and emotions. He had, apparently, wanted this for so long without even realizing it. 

Lise’s hands found his shoulders and she wrapped one leg around his, her mouth pliable, ceding all advantage to him with no complaint. Her body fit against his easily, like it was meant to be there all along. She was terribly familiar to him – her eyes, her smell – and yet new and exciting. He had almost never been this close to her, ever allowed himself more than a chaste touch, a moment to hold her hand. How could he have? She was Friedrich’s love… 

The thought came like a shock, cutting through the blissful haze. August pulled back suddenly, taking a large step away from her, his breathing ragged and his thoughts in disarray. 

Lise whimpered from the loss of contact.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” August stuttered. He clasped his hands behind his back, feeling a headache start at his temples. What had he just done? How? “We can’t, we shouldn’t. Mademoiselle Lise, please…” He did not know what to say, how to explain himself. 

“August, do you really think…” Her voice hitched. She swallowed and continued. “Do you really think that Friedrich would want us to be miserable? Do you think he would want us to be alone forever?” She reached out for him, almost blindly, her eyes fixed on his. He wanted her and felt how wrong it would be to allow himself to have her. “I want to be with you,” she said. 

Something broke deep inside him at those words, like she had released all the guilt and fear, brought back everything he had felt six years ago into sharp focus. Reminded him of _why_ he was doing all this to begin with. Yet, at the same time, she was allowing him to be unfaithful to the memory of a man in whose name they were about to stage a revolt. Fight a war, if it came to that. She had already taken that step. 

“How can you?” 

Lise recoiled at the horror in his voice. “August...”

He turned and ran from her, ignoring her as she shouted his name, trying to call him back. He could not do this. He ought not to. Everyone had already betrayed Friedrich while he was alive. August would not add his own name to that list posthumously. 

No matter how much he had come to love her. 

***

They hardly spoke until the day August left. 

He kept replaying the moment he kissed her in his head, wondering what had possessed him to do such a thing. It had come on suddenly, the need to be close to her, to hold her and to be a part of her. It was strange and confusing, as though he was fifteen again when romance and sexual desires were new and frightening rather than the ordinary way of things. 

It had felt so wrong and so right. The multitude of questions that suddenly surfaced tearing him apart: did he really love her or was it all nostalgia and fear and loneliness? Was it wrong to love her? Was he still doing all of this to keep his promise to Friedrich or because he wanted to help her of his own accord? Was it because he wanted her to be happy? Did it matter?

 _Do you really think that Friedrich would want us to be miserable?_ she had asked him. Would he? Was it a betrayal for them to find happiness together when he had sacrificed himself for their safety? Or… 

August had no answers and having no answers bothered him. So he shied away from the matter entirely. 

Perhaps being apart would help. August had never liked the mess that emotions caused, especially when they were not particularly in tune with everything else happening in his life. Loyalty and love had always aligned for him when Friedrich had been alive. Perhaps they still did if he performed enough mental gymnastics. 

Lise, embarrassed and distraught at the sudden rift between them, avoided him. 

They got an audience with the Prince the day before August was to leave for Romankrai. Their proposition was received with great skepticism but not without curiosity. Understandably, Prince Broderick had not been completely comfortable entering into an engagement which could be considered an attempt at foreign usurpation and lead to war if Princess Camille was made aware of it. They left with no guarantees given. _If Prince Charles takes the throne,_ they were told, _I would be happy to consider an alliance treaty._

Lise saw him off at the gate to the estate gardens, bouncing a sleepy Charles on her hip. August reached out to tousle the boy’s hair and kiss his forehead, even as he avoided meeting Lise’s eyes. 

Whatever it was that had developed between them, he could not dwell on it now. 

Charles gave him a kiss back and giggled. He had begun to take on more of Lise’s features as of late, August thought. But perhaps that was only an illusion. Perhaps he had seen so much of Friedrich in the boy because he had wanted to. 

And now? 

_Stop it, August, this is not the time,_ he told himself. Once this was all over he could sort out his hopelessly confused feelings. “We will write to you when it’s time,” he told Lise. 

“August, look at me. Please.”

He did, reluctantly. Her expression was serious more than desperate. He waited for an explanation, an apology, a request to just forget what had happened. Instead, she simply said, “Be careful.”

“And you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Romankrai and its court had not changed much from how August remembered it. The pinewood forest surrounding the capital city of Kamsovgrad was still dark and ominous, even in mid-spring. It would not grow lighter and more welcoming until summer unfolded in full bloom. The main road, which cut through the forest and was one of the best paved in the entire principality, still suffered from deep potholes and mud slush caused by the winter snows and their slow abating in the early spring. 

The city itself was crowded and noisy. The milling of the crowd in the markets and on the outskirts of the city where the common townspeople lived contrasted starkly with the riches on display in the city’s central squares, before the sprawling royal palace and Ambassadors Row, the central street where most of the foreign ambassadors had their city estates. Most of the estate houses were split into two wings – the private wing, which served as the ambassador’s home and the public work wing, which served for administrative diplomatic purposes. Most diplomats who had a regular post in Romankrai had their own private townhouses elsewhere in the city or the adjoining countryside in the North East, where the forest was not as thick. Those whose serving terms amounted to only a few months, like August, were put up at the ambassador’s estate. 

Ambassadors Row, called _Inazemskaya_ by the Romankraii, was adjacent to the main administrative building of the State Advisory and across the Central Square from the royal palace. The estate house of the Grafschtum ambassador was conveniently located, so that August could see the changing of the guard at the palace from the window of his private rooms. The whole thing was strangely nostalgic and horrifying, like a confused dream. His first free afternoon he went for what he hoped looked like a casual walk in the square and tried to count the windows to locate his old rooms and Friedrich’s, too, before he remembered that their windows had not faced outward into the square. _How terribly sentimental,_ he had thought. 

August tried to imagine Charles and Lise there and couldn’t at first. Even though he had seen Lise multiple times at the palace with Friedrich that felt like a lifetime ago. Everything had been different. She had been different. He had too. He tried to imagine Charles in Friedrich’s place, riding out in front of a military parade on a black stallion in a snow-white uniform with gold lacing and epaulets, the morning sun of a midsummer day in his hair and the air completely still. This image came a little easier, but it still felt more like a fantasy than something that would one day come to pass.

***

The first dinner and reception at court which August was able to attend may have served to further his nostalgia if he had not been so focused on meeting and briefly speaking to everyone he kept up correspondence with in person. The last member of this inner circle whom August approached was Lise’s father. When August found him, Lord Krumkach was cooing over his other daughter. 

“Ah, Monsieur Beckendorf, I see you have entered the diplomatic service of your country and returned to us,” Krumkach said upon seeing him. “Dasha, darling have you—“

“Yes, Papa, of course we’ve met.” Camille’s lady-in-waiting gave August an icy look. August remembered her only vaguely from before – beautiful, graceful, constantly praised far above and beyond Lise in her womanly virtues. She was also far colder and more reserved. _A fitting companion for Camille_ , August thought, not without spite. 

“Have you had occasion to present to the Princess yet?” Krumkach butted in. 

“No, I have not. Probably best for everyone involved as we did not part on the best of terms.”

Dasha was looking at him like she wanted to poison him. August couldn’t understand why _she_ hated _him_ so much. What had he ever done except for stay loyal to his Prince? The reasons surely could not be personal – they had hardly ever spoken before. If she saw him as a threat on Camille’s behalf, August had little sympathy. Dasha’s own sister had suffered because of Camille’s ruthlessness and yet she was siding with her implicitly, it seemed. 

“Dasha, darling, excuse us. Come have a drink with me, Monsieur Beckendorf, before the dancing starts.” 

August allowed Krumkach to lead him aside. When they were sufficiently distanced from prying ears, August remarked quietly, “Two daughters playing two very different games, wouldn’t you say, My Lord?”

Krumkach made a face. “Dasha will do well for herself in any case. As soon as her sister comes home, all will be well.” He handed August a drink. “How is she? Has she come with you?”

August figured he meant Lise and looked around uncertainly. No one was paying them any mind. The dancing had begun and the men were distracted by the tittering of the ladies and the task of getting a partner for the minuet. “No, of course not. She is waiting for us to write to her when the time comes.”

“You personally?”

August shrugged. “Not necessarily, I suppose. Why?” He gave Krumkach a sharp look. 

“Oh it’s nothing really,” he gave the hearty laugh of a well-fed, aging man, which struck August as somewhat ludicrous, given the subject of their conversation. “I just hoped I might be able to tell her the happy news, that is all. I miss her terribly, Monsieur Beckendorf.” There was a pause after which Krumkach asked, in a voice so low that August had to strain to hear him. “And the boy?”

“With her.” He glanced nervously around again. “Perhaps another time though, My Lord?” he offered Krumkach his hand, smiling broadly for the sake of anyone who was watching them. He hoped Krumkach would realize they were treading into territory too dangerous for a public place, so close to Camille and her spies. 

“Of course. You probably wish to enjoy the dancing.” Krumkach shook August’s hand, twirled one of his thick black whiskers, and walked away with a jaunty step, like he had no cares in the world. 

August stayed and drank. The one thing that had always been good at the Romankrai court was the wine. He knew he ought to join the dancing – _don’t mind me; I’m just another foreign diplomat –_ but he could not quite bring himself to do it. Dancing had never been a skill of his anyway. 

“Not in the mood for a dance or just not very fond of the ladies?” 

August turned around slowly, purposefully. “Tired is all, Mademoiselle Krumkach.” He gave Dasha an even look. “I thought you would be dancing.”

“And I thought I would see if an old friend would extend the favor.”

August could have laughed. They were barely acquaintances and certainly not very friendly ones at that. But still, it would be far more diplomatic to let her lead this game. That Dasha had come to spy on Camille’s behalf, August was certain. He offered her his hand wordlessly, setting aside the wine. 

Dasha was a graceful dancer, unlike Lise, who stumbled through half the figures, her movements strangely restricted or forced. _She still enjoys dancing, despite all that,_ August thought fondly. Lise never allowed her lack of skill at something stop her. Friedrich had been just like that, too. 

After several turns, Dasha said, “Will you not tell me about my sister. Rumor is, you have gotten close. That she practically lives with you.”

“Your sister has made a life for herself in Grafschtum,” August said, hoping he sounded perfectly detached. “I suppose you must miss her very much.” 

“Lise and I were never very close. We liked different things, different people.” Dasha’s smile was smug. 

August spun her around, a little more sharply than necessary. “I’ve noticed,” he parried, keeping his tone aloof and noncommittal. 

Suddenly, her expression changed and she smiled brightly. “You are just as I remember.”

“How is that?” The sudden shift in her tone put August on edge. 

“Distant.” 

“Ah.”

The next several figured were danced in frame and Dasha moved into August’s arms with the confidence of a woman used to men wanting her as much in their personal space as possible. He did not object, allowing her to feel secure. Perhaps that way she would lose some of her vigilance and say something of actual use instead of _flirting_ or whatever it was she had decided to change her game to. _Not bloody likely._ But worth a try, nonetheless. 

“I also heard,” Dasha said, her voice now lowered to conspiratorial levels, “that I have a nephew.” 

August fought the sudden tension that seized him and sent Dasha out for an under arm turn, buying himself time. 

When she came back into his arms, she was smiling calmly. “You’re not denying it.”

“I’m not.”

“An illegitimate son. Tut-tut.” She tiptoed up and whispered against his ear, “Is he yours? I promise I won’t tell.” 

August wanted to strangle her. Instead, he said, “I sense this concerns you, Mademoiselle Krumkach.”

“Is it so surprising that I would like to know what my sister left home for? Lise always had terrible timing, but to run away when her family needed her most…”

“I think she felt there was no room here anymore for the lover of a deposed Prince.” That was as close to genuine as August would get with this woman. He wondered what Dasha would think of her father’s activities. Probably nothing positive. 

Dasha’s pretty face contorted for just a moment before going completely blank. “I know why you’re here, Monsieur Beckendorf and so does the Princess.” 

“Why?” He wondered if she would tell him the truth or a half-truth or just walk away. The dance had ended and August stopped, bowing to his partner for show. 

Dasha curtsied and said with a pleasant, courtly smile in a voice low enough so that only August could hear, “You’re a spy for Grafschtum. What other reason would you have to come back here after all this time?” She turned and walked away. 

A spy. Well, he had expected to be suspected of that. August nearly sighed in relief. If that was all Camille thought he was doing, then things were better than he had thought. Although Dasha’s knowledge of Charles and her probing questions around the subject made him antsy. At any rate, he would need to be careful. But he’d already known that. _  
_  
***

His presence in Romankrai made Camille nervous. August was aware of this, although he was not treated as anything other than a low-ranking diplomat. At least not officially. At some point, he became aware that he was being watched. This meant that he was forced to stop most communication with prominent co-conspirators for some time as well as all correspondence other than letters to Lise, which could be sent through diplomatic channels. The only time August was able to meet with Shugalov or anyone else was when he could reasonably be there for diplomatic or court reasons, which was not very often and most of the meetings were not very private. 

After some time, Camille seemed to have satisfied herself that he had not come for the execution of any immediate plan and Shugalov informed him that active surveillance was removed to conserve resources. August, who was not a spy of any sort by occupation, was massively relieved. Over those two months of being closely watched he had developed a sort of low-key stress-related exhaustion which interfered with work and life in general. 

Most of all he wanted to go home. He wanted to hold Charles in his lap and have long, drawn-out conversations with Lise on the porch after dinner. But at the same time, being back in Romankrai had made him only more eager to put their plans into action. Every street, every building reminded him of the years past. The memories of Friedrich, of everything that had happened, were engraved into the stones in the streets and the railings of the bridges, they swam in the fountains and hung in the still air. 

He couldn’t say if Charles would be happier as a prince than as just another boy from a gentry estate – Friedrich hadn’t been – but this country was his birthright. And it _had_ to be what Friedrich would have wanted for his son if he had made out those papers. And it was what Lise wanted – for her son to rule, to go back home, to take back for Charles what had been taken from Friedrich. 

August knew he was not doing this for himself. Revenge had never been a motivator for him in anything really. But he _was_ doing it for the people he loved. All three of them, in one way or another. The best he could, at any rate. That was reason enough. It had to be. 

***

Once the core of the conspiracy had been put into place and General Kiskin had been bent to their cause, the systematical destabilization of the political situation began. Rumors were spread far and wide about a lawful heir to the throne. What had once been privileged information, available only to those in the highest ranks of government began to spread like wildfire through the countryside. It was talked about in taverns, in the military barracks, in sitting rooms of the gentry and merchant classes. 

Dissatisfactions with the government, which had dealt poorly with the drought, returned restrictions on trade, brought back the Secret Chancellery and failed to keep its promise to the military, turned to resentment and conspiracy theories. That Prince Friedrich had been murdered was not contested by anyone with any understanding of politics. For those less literate in state affairs, the existence of a true heir, living somewhere in exile, was offensive enough. 

Camille fought these accusations the best she could. The more violent rebellions were put down by force, the less threatening ones – appeased. August had to note that for all her cold contempt, Camille struck a formidable figure. She was stunning and always composed. She could show contempt or pity or mercy at the drop of a hat. Her flexibility was immense, but so was her ruthlessness. 

At the beginning of summer, Lise and Charles were moved to the safehouse and put into the care of the Aderholts. Lise wrote that she had gone to see Prince Broderick once more before they relocated. The Prince gave her the same answer as before, but he did send a letter to the ambassador with instructions to speak to August about the matter and hash out a draft of the treaty, based heavily on the one previously discussed with Friedrich. 

The ambassador took an interest in this project, one perhaps even more passionate than Prince Broderick, and therefore would sometimes help arranged meeting for August and one of the other ringleaders under pretenses of diplomatic discussions on minor matters. For Grafschtum, an alliance treaty with Romankrai would mean the end of constant tensions with a stronger neighbor, as well as letting go of their constant obligations to Killark, which were strenuous and sometimes disadvantageously one-sided. Animosity and distrust between Grafschtum and Romankrai had had a few generations to stew and ferment before Friedrich’s attempt to close up that chasm, but it had also given Grafschtum leaders time to realize that they would fare better under an alliance with Romankrai than the one they had with Killark. If only the country was ruled by someone they could even consider trusting. 

Lord Krumkach had approached August repeatedly to ask after LIse, as he had not been able to reach her. August told him that they had relocated her and letters would not be sent directly to her, but through a proxy. Krumkach did not seem pleased at this answer, which August put down to anxiety over his daughter’s safety. 

Around this time, the situation had finally become so turbulent that Princess Camille was forced to begin talk of war. Debates in the Advisory sprung up immediately. There was nothing the dignitaries could do to truly stop her, but many thought it would be wise to urge the Princess not to go to war. A costly war against Killark – the sort they had already lost not too long ago – would only put more stress on the starving coffers of the royal treasury, take men away from the fields and shops and generally necessitate the raising of taxes or, alternatively, going deep into debt to foreign nations. 

However, Camille feared losing the support of the military. Her own lover – who understood little of statecraft but much when it came to war and the exaltations of victory – urged her to fight. If they won, this would solidify her rule and open up much-needed trade routes to Cobinyos tax-free.

Yet Camille wavered. As the summer wore on, she worried that a campaign this late in the year would be dangerous. The snows were thick in the North and came early. Most of Romankrai was shielded from the oceanic winds coming in from the West by the costal mountain range, but if the fighting took them into Killark, this protection would soon cease. Her only hope was that Grafschtum ships would have a harder time reaching Killarik with provisions in the later months over the turbulent oceanic waters. 

A Privy Council meeting was finally set to determine the matter. August held his breath. 

***

August sat at a table in the back corner of a roadside inn on the outskirts of Kamsovgrad. He kept the hood of his travel cloak up and looked around wearily. The shadows and the cloak would hide his face from any curious onlookers but it would be of little use if someone had followed him. 

The inn was full. Rowdy workmen and local peasantry were gathered in groups at long wooden tables. They drank from large flagons of bear and some swill, which must have passed for bread wine around these parts. From time to time, bursts of ruckus laughter at someone’s crude joke drowned out all other conversation. The lighting was poor and August had to squint to see through the crowd as he waited. 

Eventually, a man in a travel cloak much like August’s – and much too expensive for the inn’s patronage – slipped through the door. He threw some coins at the innkeeper, there was a brief exchange of words, then walked straight for August. 

Councilor Shugalov sat down opposite of him with an expression of great distaste. “Was it necessary to meet in such a pigsty?”

August allowed himself an eyeroll. “Where else would you suggest, Councilor? On such short notice. At the royal palace?”

Shugalov made a face. “This is about tomorrow’s Privy Council meeting, isn’t it?”

“Yes. What is it looking like on there?”

Shugalov shook his head. “Everyone is very conflicted. General Kiskin wants to go to war, naturally. Rusalkin will vote for war, because that is what Camille wants. Gorak and Tsoi are firmly in the peace camp, and I believe so is Rumin. Rumin understands fairly clearly that going to war could be utterly disastrous. Rudenko has no opinion, so he would be easy to sway.”

“And what about you?”

“Personally, I was going to vote to not go.”

“Why not? It would occupy the army and Romankrai is bound to lose, especially with the cold season soon coming. Princess Camille is taking a desperate measure, but don’t you think she is overplaying her hand?”

“It will not be such a gamble if Grafschtum decides it is not worth braving the ocean storms to bring supplies to Killark.”

August shook his head. “Obvious strawman, Councilor. Grafschtum merchants are skilled in sailing those seas and they will not abandon the obligations of a treaty on a whim.” 

“Another thing then: a war _will_ unify the country and it will give the military what they have been asking for.”

“Not if Romankrai loses.”

“Keep your glee in check,” Shugalov snarls, a low, annoyed sound. August had managed to hit a nerve. “Prince Charles needs a country to rule over if he is to rule at all.”

“Don’t bore me, Councilor. Killark has never attempted to invade Romankrai further than the borderlands.”

“I still say it’s a gamble, but perhaps you’re right.” Shugalov folded his hands in front of his face, a naturally pensive position for him. “Technically, we have enough votes to give the Council’s affirmation for the war.”

“You have reservations.”

“I do, but partially because I feel like you’re hiding something from me.” 

August ran a hand over his face. He didn’t want to tell Shugalov, but perhaps, by now, it did not make sense to not trust the man. After all, if Shugalov had wanted to betray them, he could have done it long ago. He still could, but August had no evidence for his disloyalty. “There is one more reason why going to war makes sense, especially knowing that Romankrai will not fare well.”

“I’m listening.”

August explained about the treaty talks with Grafschtum, about how with Camille, the officer’s could chose a disastrous war or a humiliating peace, but with Charles – and Grafschtum support – they would be able to have everything. 

Shugalov’s face was dark, the lines around his mouth deep and threatening. “You have been conducting treaty talks with Grafschtum behind my back? What if someone had talked! What if the Princess found out?” Shugalov hissed. He was obviously furious at being left out. 

“No one would have talked. Prince Broderick and Ambassador Alvensleben understand the seriousness of the situation.”

“And have they agreed to this treaty?” Shugalov’s voice dripped with skepticism. 

“In theory.”

“In _theory?_ ”

“They are understandably cautious.” August fought to keep his voice even. How did Shugalov not understand? This was the easiest way for them to sway the officers in their direction. “First, of course, the Advisory must proclaim for Charles. Since this all takes time, and in the case that the Advisory demands to actually _see_ Charles for themselves…” August shuddered internally at the thought of what that would involve: bringing LIse and Charles into the heart of Romankrai during a volatile situation But he and Lise had discussed this and neither of them saw a way around it. “It would be for the best if the majority of the army were occupied in the North. If Camille decides to ride out to the front at some point as well—“

“No, she’s not stupid enough to do that in this political climate. If she does leave, it will be very quietly. The Secret Chancellery will take every precaution – we might not even know.” 

“It is still our best option.”

Shugalov considered this. “Perhaps.” He gave August a piercing look from under the hood of his cloak. “I know you do not trust me much, Monsieur Beckendorf, but hiding things like this is juvenile. It could only hurt us rather than help.” 

August gave him a smug look. “Consider me telling you all this a gesture of trust, Councilor.”

Shugalov grimaced. “This is dangerous information, Monsieur Beckendorf. I don’t know how others might feel about a treaty with a country we are constantly at war with, even if only by proxy.” 

August shrugged. “Then keep it to yourself, Councilor. At least until the time is right and people are more likely to see its usefulness.” 

Shugalov stood, seemingly accepting this reasoning. “Good evening, Monsieur Beckendorf.” He wrapped his cloak closer around himself and stalked from the inn. 

August watched him go, wondering if he shouldn’t have said anything at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Romankrai declared war on Killark shortly after the meeting of the Privy Council to the great delight of all the high ranking officers. 

August had stood in the back of the State Advisory main chamber among other foreign dignitaries as Camille gave an uplifting and eloquent speech, detailing the future glories and victories, which Romankrai would attain in the near future. He was also present at court when war was officially declared, the edict passing from Camille’s hands into the hands of the Killark ambassador. 

The Grafschtum ambassadorial estate was in an uproar all afternoon. 

August, distracted and excited, found a quiet moment to write to Lise. _We have the Princess cornered and at war. It can’t be long now,_ he wrote. He wanted to add something personal, tell her that he missed her and couldn’t wait for all of this to be over so they could see each other again. Instead, all he did was added to the end of the letter: _Give Charles a hug for me and Lise? Do take care._ Then sealed the letter and slipped it in with the rest of the diplomatic dispatches. 

Later. When this was all over, they would say everything that needed to be said. 

***

The initial months of the campaign went well for Romankrai. The army, finally engaged, settled and the common dislike of their northern neighbor united the common people, at least initially, behind the crown. Parades were given and initial victories, though small, placated the country’s unrest. 

This streak of success broke mid-autumn. The winds of the cold season swept across the fields and ripped through encampments. Romankrai’s winters were cold but usually not windy. The Killarki, for whom wind was a typical occurrence, faired far better in this sort of weather. Initial gains were once again seceded and a long stalemate began. Frustration at home grew once more as the initial enthusiasm faded. The more young recruits were taken from villages and towns and whisked away to the front, the most the war was resented. 

Some blamed Princess Camille and her lover, General Ptitsin, for the war, convinced – not incorrectly – that only highborn officers and other nobles would profit from the war. Others, spurred on by official rhetoric, insisted that those who spread unrest and “fictitious stories” about an exiled rightful heir were at fault for destabilizing the nation. If they had been united, the war would be over long ago. General Kiskin’s most trusted lieutenants reported to Shugalov that dissatisfaction and inpatients in the ranks was also rising. At headquarters, debates as to whether or not the campaign ought to be halted until spring ran high. 

By the time the snows came, August, Shugalov and Krumkach began discussing concrete dates for when they ought to bring their plans to a head. 

***

“We must speak.”

August froze, one hand still on the thick wool hat he had been considering. In the crowded marketplace, he could not be certain that the words had been addressed to him or where they even came from. He picked the hat off the rack and peered through the uneven wooden poles that separated the small tent of the seamstresses from the jam makers. A pair of familiar brown eyes peered back at him. 

“Here, My Lord?” August made a show of examining the hat he held. 

“Meet me on the East side of the marketplace in fifteen minutes. I have urgent news.” 

August gave a small nod and turned around. He bought the hat, then wondered around for a few minutes, before making his way to the East side. Here the market slowly dispersed into the woods. He glanced over his shoulder, then began to slowly make his way down the path, kicking up small tufts of snow as he went. 

Lord Krumkach caught up with him shortly after. “You would make a good spy,” he said, wiping melted snow off his forehead. 

“Hardly. What is your urgent news?”

Krumkach stopped. The wood around them was thin, the pine trees interspersed with birches, which looked gangly and starved among the evergreens. The air was still, disrupted only by the light snowfall. From far away, the noise of the marketplace floated to them as though through a fog. They were alone. “You may already know this,” Krumkach began, “but I thought I’d make certain.”

“Know what?”

“Princess Camille is planning to leave the city at the end of next week.” 

August sucked in a long breath of cold air. He tasted snowflakes on his tongue and was instantly reminded of Lise and their snowball fight the one winter Grafschtum got heavy snow. “Where is she going?”

“I’m not certain. It seems like she means to put an appearance in at the front. Lead the troops and all that.”

This was news to August. “I haven’t heard anything. How do you know this? Does anyone else know?”

“The Privy Council must know. Councilor Rudenko is the one who told me. Has he not said anything to you?”

“No.” August frowned. “My point of contact with the Council is Shugalov and he hasn’t said anything…” Either Shugalov had decided to give August a taste of his own medicine – which, in this case, was idiotic at best – or he had been right to not trust the man after all. 

Krumkach looked concerned. “That is very strange. Certainly, Councilor Shugalov would see that this is the opportune moment to bring our plans to fruition.”

August hummed affirmatively. This really would be the perfect opportunity. Why would Shugalov not say anything? The concerned look on Lord Krumkach’s face bothered him. “Is there something else, My Lord?”

Krumkach shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t want to seem like I’m imagining anything but… Councilor Shugalov has not been very straightforward lately. With me or anyone else. He meets privately with the Princess sometimes and I cannot say what they speak of.”

August felt his heart sink. Carefully, he said, “We have been in this together for a long time, My Lord. I am not sure why Councilor Shugalov would choose now to betray us. After all this time.” 

“Unless he has been doing so this entire time – reporting on our plot to the Princess.” 

Shugalov had not wanted to go to war and he hadn’t been able to give August a good explanation why. But there had been no arrests of key conspirators and war had been declared, even after August had told Shugalov of the treaty talks. But why had Shugalov then not told him about the Princess’ plans to leave the city? “I admit, My Lord, that Councilor Shugalov has given me little reason to doubt his loyalty. I will, however, attempt to get in touch with Councilor Rudenko on the matter.

“You could try,” Krumkach said, beginning to walk again. “But Rudenko has gone out wolf hunting. I’m afraid he won’t be back in time.” 

_Blood fantastic._ August fidgeted. “But you are certain of this information?”

“Yes.” 

“This doesn’t add up, My Lord. Shugalov must have known the news would get to me somehow. What was the point of hiding it?” 

“He probably thought Rudenko would never bring it up with me or that I would simply expect that he had already spoken to you and not say anything. But perhaps you are right and I am simply exaggerating the matter. You must understand, my daughter’s and grandson’s future are at stake here.” 

_As well as their lives,_ August thought. “Well, this is quite a dilemma. The Princess’ absence would be the best timing for the Advisory to declare for Prince Charles.”

“The Advisory might not wish to declare without seeing the Prince for themselves.”

“I’m aware.” August tilted his head back, wondering how he got sucked into making decisions far above what his station in life and politics would typically demand. Naked birches and maple trees stared down at him, reaching out their long branches like the arms of beggars. Beside them, their full-bodies neighbors, the shameless evergreens, stood in serene silence. He would need to make this decision himself. And what if he had been a fool for allowing Shugalov to win his trust? “I think we should still summon Lise and Charles. Make all the arrangements, everything. You fund a regiment, do you not, My Lord?”

“Yes.”

“Your most loyal men can provide an escort. Simply for precaution, we will not say anything to Councilor Shugalov until Lise is safely in the care of your men and the Princess has left the capital.”

“Excellent. I think this plan is quite sensible.” Krumkach nodded and twirled one of his whiskers. “I think it would be best if I wrote to her, Monsieur Beckendorf. I know you will dislike the idea, but then I can give Lise the most direct instructions and explain everything properly. And, as I have mentioned before, I believe, it would give me such joy to be the bearer of happy news.” His smile at this was kindly and almost wistful. 

August considered this. “You could perhaps find a way to pass it to me and I can send it through our diplomatic channels.” 

Krumkach gave him a sharp look. “You do not trust me?”

August smiled bitterly. “I’ve learned not to trust Romankraii politicians too much, My Lord. Forgive me.” 

“Do you honestly think I would put my daughter and grandson in danger? Monsieur Beckendorf, I do not know what Lise has told you but I love my daughters. Dasha is…celebrated at court. It is easy to admire her. But I only ever scolded Lise in an attempt to help her.”

August scoffed, implying his attitude toward Krumkach’s parenting methods. But if he could trust one thing it was a father’s love for his daughter. Lise, at least, never complained that her father did not love her, merely that he did not appreciate what she had to offer in comparison to her sister. “I meant no offense. But what other way of delivery do you recommend?” 

“I can have one of my men take it across the border. Civilian dress, everything. He would simply go to Kielnburg and reach out to your contact there. I have a couple of lads with cousins in the area. It would not be terribly suspicious. I understand that this is not actually optimal. In fact, I would rather we do it through your embassy, but diplomatic mail will not go out until the end of this week – unless I am mistaken? – and by then it will be too late.” 

August winced. He was right. “I will leave the details to you then, My Lord.” They exchanged a few more words on the exact dates of Camille’s departure and Lise’s intended arrival, then parted, heading back toward the city in opposite directions. 

***

Two days before Princess Camille’s expected departure, which seemed to be kept under incredible secrecy, and three days before Lise’s expected arrival in Kamsovgrad, a grand reception and ball was held at court. Nobles, high ranking officers who remained in the city and foreign dignitaries were all in attendance. The night went by in a haze of wine and dancing, wartime concerns forgotten for the evening. 

August drank little but his mounting excitement and anxiety left him fidgety and unable to stand still. The crowd was suffocating and oppressive and the dancing did not sooth his nerves. Lord Krumkach had speculated that the Princess may announce her departure at the reception. August doubted it, however. Camille knew that something was afoot, especially if Shugalov had in fact been spying for her. She would not want to alert those plotting against her of her departure earlier than absolutely necessary. Perhaps she would even try to make her absence unnoticeable. 

August had not spoken to Shugalov since his conversation with Krumkach and he wondered if Shugalov was purposefully avoiding him. Councilor Rudenko had been delayed on his way back from the hunt by a heavy snowstorm, or so the rumor went, and he was not due back until that evening or the following morning. 

At some point late in the evening, the noise and gaiety of the ball was too much for August. He considered going home but was stopped at the door by the new round of waltzes. 

_Fever Dreams suit_ by Americo Bacheltoni led by a violin. 

August closed his eyes, the wave of nostalgia taking him over by surprise. Friedrich had loved those to death, played them regularly, as he did most things by Bacheltoni. He had once written an entire play with the _Fever Dreams_ suits as its soundtrack. It had been an amateur, impressionistic thing, but done with the utmost care. August wondered what had become of the small private theater Friedrich had used as a refuge from his duties and the bustle of court life. 

He slipped out of the ballroom and into a side corridor. 

Imperial guards were stationed throughout the palace, but August had spent half of his life there. He knew the hallways and small corridors, the connecting rooms and ways around the posted guardsmen. Sneaking through the private interior of the palace made him feel like a boy again and sometimes, he almost thought he could feel Friedrich beside him. It was a ludicrous delusion, but it persisted nonetheless. 

The hallway leading to the theater was empty. This deep inside the palace, guard posts were far more rare. The door to the theater was closed but not locked. August snagged a candle from the candelabrum outside the theater door and slipped inside the empty chamber. 

The single candle gave off a very dim light and it took August’s eyes a few moments to adjust. The room looked like it had been virtually unused all these years. Props were still scattered along the back of the stage and furniture had been moved out of the way only to be stacked against the walls. Miscellaneous items rested there and here, most covered in a thick layer of dust. The windows were closed and the shutters drawn. 

August paced across the wooden floor, breathing in the dusty air, which seemed to have conserved all his memories in it: Friedrich playing piano or the violin at the windows; Friedrich and Lise dancing across the stage, without music to guide them; the room packed with the Prince’s household to watch another one of Friedrich’s commissioned plays. All the afternoons and evenings they had spent here. 

He wondered if Charles would love it like his father had. He wondered if Lise would be able to handle the memories or if she would avoid this wing of the palace like the plague. August could hardly deal with it himself. He still woke up from the same nightmare, with the same sense of guilt. _I hadn’t seen it coming soon enough. I hadn’t been able to warn him._

Maybe he _was_ doing all of this for himself too, after all. Maybe, if he helped Friedrich’s son become Prince, he could finally forgive himself. 

August climbed the steps to the stage and surveyed the forgotten props: wigs, fake swords, oversized dresses, angel wings, and… His eyes caught the glint of metal. It was a sword, a real rapier, covered in dust like everything else but once well taken care of. 

He knew that sword, or, rather, the navy-blue silk ribbon with gold trimming tied around the handle. _Friedrich’s rapier._ August scooped it up, balanced it in one hand gingerly, swooped it through the air. The metal made a high-pitched whistle. Friedrich’s favorite toy and accessory. _What was it doing here?_

Reports of how Friedrich had died were confused. That he was murdered, there was little doubt, but exactly who carried out the orders and where was confused. His body had been embalmed in the royal vault, which no one had access to, except for family members or on special occasion. It had been a very quiet affair, not at all befitting the burial of a Prince. That was all August had been able to gleam during the past few months. 

He tucked Friedrich’s sword away under his frockcoat and made for the door. The dusty air and the memories were suddenly too much to handle and he really ought to leave before someone noticed the light. 

Footsteps and voices from the hall made August stop and hurriedly put out the candle. 

“Your Highness, if the danger is truly so great, would it be not best for you to remain at the capital?” Councilor Rusalkin was saying in a hurried hushed voice. “Perhaps here—.”

“No. I will leave quietly and be back by tomorrow night. Two days at most. But I need to see this for myself. I need to deal with this myself and as discretely as possible.” 

August’s felt his pulse quicken. He pressed his back into the wall, straining to hear. Camille was leaving. She was leaving now, urgently, quietly, her own celebration not yet settled. She was leaving two days before Lord Krumkach said she would. A sudden emergency, or…? What if they somehow found out about Lise? But surely not. If the conspiracy was exposed, if they had been betrayed, there would have been arrests…   
_  
_Rusalkin and Camille stopped. They were only a few paces away from the door. “What do you intend to do, Your Highness?”

“I don’t know yet. I will go to headquarters in Nortangrad. I was promised everything would be in place by now. From there I will decide what to do.” 

“What if someone notices you have left the palace? Won’t the conspirators try to use this as a chance to declare for the boy and take hold of the city?”

“They wouldn’t have the men anyway. The fourth regiment will stay here and I’ve been assured of their loyalty. I trust the guards are loyal to me. Most other divisions are out in the field. Even if they do manage to declare for the boy… Well, I doubt that. The Advisory is not stupid enough to declare for a phantom Prince.” August could almost hear the smirk in Camille’s voice. _Phantom Prince indeed,_ August thought, his breathing easing slightly. Perhaps this was something else entirely and she did not know… 

“Should we have the conspirators arrested, perhaps?”

“No, no. I want to settle this mess first, get the upper hand. I doubt they will do anything by tomorrow. By the time they realize what is happening, I will be back. There will always be time for executions later.”

“If I may ask, Your Highness, who are they? Volkov and Glebov, I’m certain. Vernov, too.”

“Shugalov, Kiskin. Oh there are plenty of those snakes. I suppose they think they’re righteous. But they’ll regret it when I try them for treason. Making _treaties_ with _Grafschtum,_ of all things. Now, don’t waste any more of my time, Councilor. I must go now.”

August’s hand closed around the hilt of Friedrich’s sword almost instinctively. So she knew. About the conspiracy, about the treaty. _But not about Lise?  
_  
Footsteps sounded again, then stopped abruptly right in front of the door. August held his breath. For a moment, there was silence. “This candelabrum is missing a candle. How odd.” Another long pause. August could imagine Camille looking at the space of the missing candle, at the door opened just a crack, imagined what her thought process might be, that surely she would check… 

“Your Highness!” The high-pitched voice of a runner boy carried through the hall. “Everything is ready!” 

“Thank you, Petro.” Camille began to walk again, distracted. “Come along, but quietly. You too, Councilor, I have another thing to tell you before going.” In moments, they were gone. 

August let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Instantly, a wave of panic submerged him. Camille knew about the conspiracy, she knew the people involved, she knew about the treaty talks. They had been fully betrayed. 

But why was she leaving early? What did she need to do in Nortangrad? Someone on the Privy Council had found out that August knew about Camille’s planned departure, or someone who had simply taken a precaution? 

Shugalov was the only one who knew about the treaty. 

_Bastard!_ He should have trusted his instinct; he should have never trusted Shugalov.

They were out of time. 

Now. It had to happen _right now._

Part of August wanted to drop everything, find Krumkach and find out what rout his men were taking Lise and Charles on. He would ride to them and get them across the border, back to Grafschtum. They could sale across the Southern Sea. They could stay with Anna. It wouldn’t be quite like being home, but they would be safe and together. At least as safe as they could possibly be after this, after everything, inevitably, came out. 

But Princess Camille did not know he had overheard her conversation. She thought no one would notice her absence for many-many hours, perhaps at all. Not until midday, surely. In hindsight, the ball had been a brilliant cover. All August knew was that they could not wait for Lise and Charles to get here. By then, they would have missed their window of opportunity and Camille would be back.

No. It had to happen _now._

 __August slipped out of the empty theater and through the deserted halls of the inner wing, He managed to mingle with a group of courtiers leaving the palace once he got to the front halls and go unnoticed by the guards. Then he made straight for the Grafschtum ambassador’s estate.

***

“Monsieur Beckendorf, what you are asking me to do is quite irregular.” Ambassador Alvensleben looked up at August over his spectacles. His stern mouth twisted into a pained expression of uncertainty. “Even if I wanted to sign this now, as it is, it would need the Prince’s approval. I know we have discussed this with you on multiple occasions and I have brought it up with Prince Broderick as I believe you have as well, but until we are certain that Prince Charles can take the throne…”

“I don’t think you understand, Ambassador. We have been betrayed. The Council and the State Advisory are gathering right now for a special emergency meeting. The Princess left the capital late last night and this is the opportune time. If we do not do this now, we may never get a chance to do it again.” 

“But why the rush? Why has the Princess left in secret?”

August ran a hand through his hair, pushing down the panic and trying to stay calm and reasonable. He needed Alvensleben to understand that this might be the only chance they had. But he had to impress upon the ambassador the urgency of the matter. “As I said, we have been betrayed. We must act quickly. When the Princess returns from Nortangrad she will begin to come down on those who are part of the conspiracy.” 

Alvensleben rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes. He glanced toward the window where the sky was slowly starting to turn light. August had waited several hours to do anything, just in case word would be sent to Camille and she returned to the city. “Why did the Princess leave for Nortangrad in the first place?”

August shrugged. “I don’t know. She was going to go anyway, but two days later, but perhaps she realized the information might have leaked and decided to go earlier.”

“Can we really not wait to have the treaty properly presented to the Prince? I’m afraid I may lack authority—“ 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Ambassador, but you have the right to sign binding state documents in an emergency, do you not?”

“Yes, well, subject to His Highness’ review, of course.” Alvensleben was visibly flustered. Some of August’s impatience had begun to transfer to him and he began to nervously rub at his spectacles. “Personally, there is nothing I would like more than a treaty with Romankrai that would abolish all this hostility, but the Prince…”

“You could always remind the Prince,” August said, surprising even himself with the cold, uncompromising edge in his tone, “that he wears the crown at the price of Prince Friedrich’s sacrifices. This is the least he can do for the man’s son, if his own country’s security is not reason enough.” 

Completely flustered and scandalized by such audacity, Ambassador Alvensleben floundered momentarily for what to say. He stood, apparently so that August, who had remained standing the entire time, did not tower over him so much, and prepared to speak. He was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. 

“Ambassador, Councilor Shugalov is here to see you. He says it’s urgent,” intoned Alvensleben assistant, poking his head through the door. 

Alvensleben sighed resignedly. “Send him in. Everyone has gone mad this morning.” 

A harried Shugalov entered the room a moment later. On seeing August he seemed to relax, but only marginally. “Hello, Ambassador. Monsieur Beckendorf, it was you I’ve been in search for. _What is going on?_ I’ve just received notice of an emergency meeting of the Privy Council and the Advisory. Colonel Vernov’s men are pouring into the city. The fourth regiment is antsy – the two will clash soon, I fear. On top of that, Councilor Rudenko informed me that _you_ started this entire mess. _What_ in the name of _hell_ are you doing—?”

Shugalov broke off, suddenly finding a sword pressed against his throat. His eyes went wide. Ambassador Alvensleben let out an indignant squawk from behind his desk. 

August was immensely tempted to simply murder Shugalov on the spot. He felt the weight of Friedrich’s sword in his hand, the tempting sting of cold metal. But he was not quite so brash and he also simply wanted answers, because Shugalov had _almost_ managed to win his trust. “Don’t act like you don’t know, Councilor.”

Shugalov’s expression seemed genuinely stunned. “Know what exactly?”

“That the Princess has left the capital. That she knows about the conspiracy.”

“What? Princess Camille knows?”

August sneered, thinking that perhaps killing Shugalov would be easier indeed. “Don’t play me for a fool, Councilor. She knows about the plot, about the treaty talks with Grafschtum, about _everything._ She knows most of the ringleaders – you, Vernov, Volkov, Glebov, Kiskin. She didn’t name everyone, but of, she knows.”

Something mildly resembling hurt flashed over Shugalov’s expression. “And you think that I was the one to inform her?”

“You have been consistently reporting to her, haven’t you? Doubling the duties of the head of the Secret Chancellery. Perhaps proving that it should be _your_ post?”

“That again! Monsieur Beckendorf, your stubbornness is ridiculous. There are other ways to attain a promotion. What reason could I have had to betray us? How do you even know all this?”

“I overheard a conversation which was supposed to be private. No, don’t ask, it doesn’t matter how.”

“It could have been anyone.” Shugalov spreads out his hands helplessly. “Kiskin is a sly enough bastard.”

“But Kiskin,” – August took a threatening step toward Shugalov – “didn’t know about the treaty.”

Shugalov, realizing the gravity of the situation, was suddenly agitated, though August could not tell if he was worried about himself or for their plan. “No, he did not. But I wasn’t the only one who knew.” 

“What?” The carrousel of thoughts in August’s head stopped. He had been certain Shugalov had kept that particular piece of information to himself. He was of a suspicious sort himself. “You told someone?”

“Yes.” Shugalov said flatly. “I told Lord Krumkach about it. I wanted a second opinion for one and, secondly, he had been avidly pushing for Camille to not go to war. He said he was afraid she would win. Krumkach isn’t exactly a military man…” Shugalov trailed off, as though some kind of realization had come to him. 

“Why should I believe you?” August snapped. 

“It’s true,” Ambassador Alvensleben piped up from behind him. “Lord Krumkach did come to see me about the treaty.”

“So you kept that from me _too._ ” August suddenly felt like the ground was slowly shifting beneath his feet. The picture that had seemed so clear before, suddenly muddled. _So many mistakes. Dear God, I’m not a_ real _spy._

“What else have I been keeping from you?”

“That Princess Camille planned to leave the city two days from today. Did you find out that Lord Krumkach told me and advised her to leave early?” 

Shugalov looked genuinely shocked. “Krumkach told you Camille was leaving the capital? I didn’t know about this!”

“The Privy Council knew, but you did not?”

“The Privy Council?” 

August suddenly felt helpless. He wondered if Shugalov was a good enough actor to fake such genuine confusion. Nonetheless, he lowered the sword. “Lord Krumkach said that Councilor Rudenko told him this information and he came to tell me in case you did not.” 

Shugalov let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “This must have been long ago. Rudenko had already left for his hunting trip at the last Council meeting and he was ill for the one before, you probably remember that.” 

August did the math. It added up. But then… 

August froze. He made eye contact with Shugalov and suddenly puzzle pieces began to shift around in his mind, forming up into a completely different picture. A picture akin to something from a nightmare. The men Camille had named – or rather not named – as ringleaders, Krumkach knowing about the treaty, Krumkach insisting on arranging everything himself for bringing Lise to Romankrai, Shugalov’s seemingly genuine confusion, Councilor Rudenko not being at the latest council meetings. It was all very circumstantial, explainable, and yet… 

Camille going to Nortangrad instead of handling her problems from the capital. _I need to deal with this myself,_ she had said. _This._ Something specific, like a threat that had to be removed. She was leaving the fourth regiment in the city, the fourth regiment, which Camille had trusted to stay and keep faith to her. Why the fourth regiment? The second regiment was also close enough to recall. _I trust the guards to be loyal to me._ The guards specifically loyal to her, but not the fourth. She had been _assured of their loyalty._ Loyalty to who? 

“Councilor, does someone fund the fourth regiment?”

“Lord Krumkach,” Shugalov said. 

_Oh dear God._

__August turned to Ambassador Alvensleben. “Your Excellency,” he said. “This is our only chance.”


	7. Chapter 7

Lise held Charles close to her breast, trying to cover him with a fold of her travel cloak. In the darkness, she could not see where they were or where they were going. It had taken her some time to realize that something was wrong, that the men sent to escort her were from her father’s regiment but they were not taking her to Kamsovgrad. 

Soon after, they began treating her more like a prisoner than anything else. She and Charles were constantly under guard and no one would tell her anything. Finally, it dawned on her that they had been betrayed. She tried to keep her fear from her son, but he felt it anyway with the keen intuition of a child and huddled against her for warmth and comfort. 

She had tried to run, once. But she could only go so fast in the snow with a small child in toe. They were far off the main roads, usually making camp in a wooded or hilly area. The closest village was typically hours away on foot. The one time Lise had managed to get out of camp, they had caught up to her within a couple of hours. The men hit her and threatened to kill Charles if she ever tried to run again. The threat to her son and the understanding that escape was nearly impossible was enough to keep Lise subdued. 

She knew they were going north, toward the boarder with Killark. Military encampments were growing more frequent as they went and the winds became stronger. On the last night, they passed through a large city, which Lise supposed was most likely Nortangrad.

“What will they do with us, Mama?” Charles whispered against her shoulder. “I thought we were going to see Uncle August?” 

Lise stroked his hair gently and murmured, “I don’t know, darling. Let us wait and see. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.” She knew it was not. Something had gone terribly wrong. Her father’s men seemed indifferent to the fact that she was their benefactor’s daughter. That her own father could betray her did not even enter her mind. 

They stopped for the night at a large military encampment. Lise and Charles were put up in a makeshift barracks room. Two soldiers were put on guard to watch them. It was almost comical how much fuss was being made over guarding a woman with a young child. 

The camp was in a state of excitement the entire night. Lise could hear troop movements and barked orders coming from outside, mingled with the howling of the wind. Charles fell asleep with his head in her lap after hours of restlessness. 

Lise wondered why they had not been taken to court. Why to a field headquarters in Nortangrad? She wondered what she should say if they decided to interrogate her. With utter horror she wondered if she would be turned over to the Secret Chancellery.

The one thing Lise did have to her advantage was that they had not found the legitimization papers. Their belongings and persons had been searched, but Lise had sowed the papers up into her corset before leaving Grafschtum in such a way that the cursory, frankly embarrassed search of a young Lieutenant revealed nothing. 

It was almost midday before they were disturbed. Lise recognized the man as Colonel Ptitsin. “General, now,” he told her smugly when she first addressed him. 

“What is it that you want from us, General?” Lise asked. She held Charles’ hand tightly. 

“Her Royal Highness wishes to see you.” Ptitsin pointed a pistol at Charles and made a face. “I do hate violence against children. Let us all cooperate shall we?”

Lise did not dare argue. She allowed Ptitsin to lead her across a wide courtyard into a large, rectangular wooden building. The snow was heavy on the ground and the high winds ripped through the banners, making them flat haphazardly on hastily erected flagpoles. The clouds were thick and hung long, killing most of the daylight. How anyone presumed to do battle in this weather was utterly beyond Lise. 

The building they were ushered into was obviously a central command of some sort. Maps and clay models lined the walls and covered the two long tables. A full staff of generals, several colonels, and a crop of aid-de-camps stood at attention. 

Lise and Charles were led before the waiting officers and pushed to their knees. Charles made a small whimpering noise; Lise could tell he was trying very hard to not cry. 

“My Lady Lise?” 

Lise looked up. Her eyes met with General Kiskin’s. “General.” At least she had one supporter here. 

“Look how he addresses her. His lady!” Ptitsin scoffed. 

“She _is_ a Lady, Ptitsin. Hold your tongue,” Kiskin snapped. 

Ptitsin put a hand on his sword and was about to make a retort when the doors flew open, carrying in a whirl of snow. Every man in the room instantly came to attention and bowed very low. 

Princess Camille, in a long fur coat and warm hat stood in the doorway. She waited for the doors to be shut behind her before removing the hat and unfastening the coat. She walked calmly to the hearth and stood over it for a few moments, warming her face and hands. Then she turned to face Lise. 

Hatred was a weak word to describe what Lise felt for this woman. This woman who had taken away her lover, taken away her home and was likely to take away her son. She stared Camille down, not willing to be so easily humiliated. 

“Are you not going to bow to your Princess?” Camille asked in a voice as calm as her movements. 

Lise remained silent. 

“Gentlemen,” Camille said, turning to the generals and other officers assembled. “When I heard that this wench had sneaked into the country with her pretender, bastard son, I considered getting rid of them quietly. But I did not want it said that I did not trust you, my best officers, enough. I also did not wish to be considered weak. Part of me thought that I would be merciful and simply send them somewhere far away, but the problem is, of course, that this wench has plotted to overthrow me. As though it was not bad enough that she bewitched my poor, late husband and took him away from his duty, but now she has inserted Grafschtum agents into my court. Into the heart of our country.” 

A rumble went through the room. General Kiskin looked lost and dismayed, probably realizing that the conspiracy had been revealed. 

“You never loved Friedrich,” Lise blurted out. She put an arm around Charles’ shoulders and drew him closer to her. They might be lost now, but she was not about to go down meekly, without even a word. That girl – the one who spoke out of turn regularly but was always emberassed afterword – died with Friedrich. “And he never loved you. Long before I came along. He might have if you had a little less contempt for him. But you hated him and you murdered him to satisfy your ambitions.” 

Another rumble went through the room. 

Camille held up a hand to stop Ptitsin from lunging at Lise. She walked forward and slapped Lise hard, but almost lazily. Lise smiled bitterly and spat the blood that had pooled in her mouth from the blow at Camille’s feet. 

Angry shouts rose up from some of the younger, more impressionable officers. 

“And Charles is not illegitimate,” Lise said, her tone turning poisonous. “He is the rightful heir to Romankrai. Friedrich’s legitimate heir.” 

Another rumble ran across the room. Some of the men were snickering but others were looking at each other uncertainly. Camille merely smiled. “A rightful heir? Born of a mistress?”

“He was legitimized.” 

“Ha! What proof have you?”

“Papers.”

“No papers were found on them, Your Highness,” the colonel who had been in charge of Lise’s escort reported from the back. 

“You didn’t look very well, Colonel,” Lise said lightly. She took a clip out of her hair and used its sharp edge to puncture the fabric of her bodice. She sucked in a breath and pulled the fabric apart. The front layer of the dress came away. She gave another tug and the corset’s seems began to open. She stopped before the entire thing fell apart and left her exposed before a group of men, though by this point Lise was no sure how much she cared. She reached into the ripped corset and pulled out the scroll. “Papers.”

There was a scramble from all sides to take them from her. Ptitsin ripped them out of her hands and passed them over to Camille. The Princess unrolled the scroll and read it. Lise watched the emotions glide over her face, one rapidly changing another. Finally, Camille composed herself and looked up from the scroll. “An obvious forgery. Burn them.” She handed the scroll to a young aid-de-camp. 

Lise’s heart sank. 

“Give those here, Officer Koliye.” General Kiskin’s voice rank out clearly through the room. Everyone turned to look at him. The aid-de-camp froze, torn between obeying the Princess and his commanding officer. The pregnant silence lasted for several seconds. Finally, military discipline won out. 

“This is not a forgery,” Kiskin declared after glancing at the scroll and holding it up for everyone to see. “This is the royal seal; this is Prince Friedrich’s writing. What’s your name, boy?”

Charles, realizing he was being addressed, went very still for a moment. He glanced up at Lise, then looked back at Kiskin and said in as clear a voice as he could manage, “Charles.” 

“There. Just as in the papers.”

“How do we know he is really Prince Friedrich’s son?” someone piped up. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” one of the younger colonels sneered. “It’s the clearest resemblance you could possibly get.” 

There was an instead uproar. Camille, feeling like she was losing the sway of the crowd, gestured for silence, but it took her a minute to get it. “Yes, listen to General Kiskin. Why not? He is in on this plot. He conspired, in wartime, to aid a conspiracy against his Princess. He betrayed the trust of being put on the Privy Council.” 

“Not just I, Your Highness, but half the Council. Most of your advisors have seen your folly. That you murdered your husband is hardly a secret. That you have failed to carry out your promise of a successful war, is just as obvious.” 

Lise understood that Kiskin was throwing in his lot with her. He had nowhere left to go, now that he had been exposed. He would fight for her, as well as for himself. 

Shouts and arguments instantly sprang up around the room. 

“Do you even understand what they have done? They have been making alliances with Grafschtum behind our backs! If that is not a betrayal to you, what is?” Camille was speaking loudly, clearly, but she still took a step toward Ptitsin, as though seeking protection. 

Lise decided that it would have to be now or never. She stood, pulling Charles up to his feet beside her. “Gentlemen. Hear me out before you decide our fate.”

“Shut her up!” Ptitsin shouted. Two men began to make their way toward Lise, but several others instantly got in their way, promising a scuffle if they go any closer. The loyalties in the room were slowly beginning to shift. The sight of Friedrich’s son, the confirmation of a legitimate heir seemed to have had a profound effect on some of these men. 

“It is true that I was never Prince Friedrich’s wife. But we loved each other and I had a son by him. A son he legitimized before he was murdered. You, gentlemen, had once gone against your Prince for the promise of glory and land. However, none of these have been given to you. Now you are once again entwined in a long, grueling and hopeless war, which will more likely than not lead to humiliation. Did I and those who support Prince Charles’ claim to the throne make a treaty with Grafschtum? Yes. But, hear me out. This treaty is meant for your benefit as well, gentlemen. This treaty guarantees that if Prince Charles takes the throne, Grafschtum will withdraw their support from Killark. They will end their alliance and join us instead. They will aid us with supplies and an advantageous trade agreement. This is not some new development – Prince Friedrich had had just the same treaty in mind. No one wanted to hear about it then, no one trusted Grafschtum. But perhaps you would like to take a leap of faith. If following the laws of succession is not reason enough for you, gentlemen, consider that with Charles on the throne and Grafschtum resources at your disposal, you can have your glory and your lands. You have already seen what Princess Camille has to offer you. Would you like to continue on this path or would you stand with your rightful Prince?”

The confusion and commotion that followed was enormous. Men were shouting and arguing, Ptitsin was hurriedly trying to form a protective barrier around the Princess. Slowly, very slowly, Lise could see the tide turning. More and more of the generals and officers were coming over to stand beside and in front of her and Charles. “To the Prince! To the Prince!” an excited aid-de-camp was shouting. 

In a last ditch effort, one of the generals who had stayed steadfastly by Camille shouted, “Fools! You would believe this! Grafschtum would never sign such a treaty! The Advisory would never declare for a bastard-born—“

He was cut off by the thunder of rapidly approaching horse hooves and shouts from outside. The doors flew open once again and several men on horseback rode into the room. Maps blew off tables, taken up on a gust of winter air. Lise whipped around to look at the newcomers and suddenly felt her knees go weak with inexplicable relief. 

“August!”

August, the court herald and several men from Colonel Vernov’s regiment had ridden into the wooden cabin, disregarding the protests of some of the generals. They made an imposing sight. 

Camille attempted to draw herself up. “What is this?” 

The herald took out a long scroll and read in a loud, clear voice. “I hereby announce that the Privy Council and the State Advisory have proclaimed that they consider the lawful and rightful Prince to be Prince Charles, son of the late Prince Friedrich. They swear their loyalty to his name and urge all military commanders do the same.” The herald was forced to shout the next few sentences to be heard over the instant explosion of shouting and the clash of steal being drawn from sheaths. “The Privy Council, which will serve as the collective Regent until Prince Charles majority has approved a treaty with the Principality of Grafschtum, which guarantees an alliance between these two nations and Grafschtum’s support for a Romankrai campaign against Killark for the borderlands come spring. The treaty also agrees to an official trade agreement on the most favorable terms.” 

At this point, August unrolled another scroll and held it up. It was the treaty, signed and sealed. His eyes met Lise’s and the corners of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. Lise felt as though her heart would burst. Her eyes landed on the sword at August’s hip. She recognized the ribbon on its hilt as easily as he had. It was so oddly perfect, Lise thought it must be a dream. 

After a moment of stunned silence, two clear shouts went up: “Hail the Prince!” from one side and “Traitors! Seize them!” from the other. 

The rest happened very quickly. Gunshots rang out and steal clashed on steal, however it was instantly obvious that Lise now had an entire line of generals and colonels standing between her and the Princess’ loyalists. Hearing the commotion, other officers and soldiers came running into the cabin from both sides, each falling in line according to where their commanding officer stood. 

In the chaos, Lise scooped Charles up into her arms and attempted to get to the door. Moments later, she felt arms around her and nearly panicked before August’s voice said against her ear, “Quickly, we need to get you and Charles to safety.” 

Moments later, someone was handing her the reigns to a horse and she was riding double with Charles, following closely behind August. They did not stop until they reached a hill about a league away from headquarters. There, Colonel Vernov and some of his men were waiting for them. 

“Thank the stars, I was thinking we were all lost,” Vernov said, coming up to shake August’s hand. “What do you think? Did enough of them turn?” 

“I think so,” August said. “From what I saw anyway.”

“Did the Advisory really declare for us?” Lise asked, breathlessly as she helped Charles down from the saddle. 

August was smiling broadly. “On the condition that Charles and his legitimization papers present themselves at the Advisory within a fortnight. But yes.” 

Lise winced. “The papers. They took them from me—“

“It’s alright.” August reached into his tailcoat and took out a slightly crumpled scroll. “I managed to get them off Kiskin before we rode out.”

Overwhelmed with relief, Lise nearly fell into his arms. August pulled her close and pressed his lips to her temple. “I thought I would never see you again,” she whispered. 

“I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.” 

“What?” She looked up into his face, confused. 

“I trusted the wrong people. But it’s over now. Thank God you’re safe.” 

He cupped her face with his hands and Lise closed her eyes, savoring the warmth. “August. I just want you to know…“ she began. 

He pressed his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he said. 

She opened her eyes, stunned. “What? I mean…I love you, too. But, in Grafschtum…” 

“I was an idiot in Grafschtum.” He smiled sheepishly. “I was so lost in my guilt and obstinacy. I thought I was betraying Friedrich by loving you. But you’re right. You know, I was in his old theater last night and I realized you were right. He loved you and he wanted you to be happy. He made papers for Charles so he could rule someday. He gave himself up so that we could have a chance at life. Both of us. I’ve brought his son home and I’ve taken care of you. I would like to think my debt is paid and my promise is kept.”

On impulse, she tiptoed up and kissed him, with complete disregard for who was watching. “Paid in full,” she whispered against his mouth, then kissed him again. 

He slid one arm around her waist and pulled her to him, his other hand still cupping her cheek. Lise wrapped her arms around his shoulders and sank into the embrace.

After so long and so much fear, they were finally safe. They were finally together. 

After what felt like forever and no time at all, they separated. Charles, who had been watching them with wide, childish eyes shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. August stepped forward and knelt before the boy. “Your Highness.” 

Charles giggled, then stopped, realizing that this was probably not the correct response for a Prince to give. “What’s that?” he said, pointing at the sword on August’s hip. “You never carried a sword before.”

August smiled and unclipped the sword. “It was your father’s favorite. I just found it the other night. Here. It is yours.” He held the sword out flat on both hands. Cautiously, Charles reached out and picked it up. August stood and stepped to Charles’ left. Lise went to stand at her son’s right. 

Charles had his entire attention on the sword for a few moments. Then he swished it through the air and held it up in a salute. Only then did he find himself face to face with the men who had remained in the hilltop encampment. They were standing at attention in parade formation with Colonel Vernov at the head of the column. 

‘Hail to the Prince!” Vernov called. 

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” came the answering call of the troops.


	8. Epilogue

Grafschtum made good on its treaty. Come spring, a new campaign was launched against Killark. This one was far more successful and won a large portion of the borderlands for Romankrai, securing key trading routs to Cobinyos. 

The overturn of power had not gone without casualties but since the majority of the general staff had turned, hostilities were soothed after a few brief struggles and stand-offs. After the previous year of political turmoil, the county began to slowly heal. 

Lustrations were kept to a minimum. The Secret Chancellery was once again disbanded and trade restrictions lifted. The trade with Grafschtum flourished. Slowly, the economy began to grow once again. 

The Regency took some time to iron out, but the majority agreed that a ruling Privy Council was acceptable. If replacements were needed, candidates would be nominated by the Advisory and the Prince could approve the candidate he saw most fit. Lise found her way onto the Privy Council after Rusalkin had to be removed. Any push back she got for being a woman was overridden by her status as Charles’ mother. Although August was ready to swear that Lise’s temperament would have been enough all on its own. 

Princess Camille and her closest allies were tried and imprisoned for the illegal seizure of power and the murder of Prince Friedrich. Lord Krumkach, who had not been involved in Camille’s initial coup, was removed from office and barred from re-entering the civil or military service but otherwise left alone. 

August retired from the diplomatic service and became Prince Charles’ first chamberlain. After all, managing a Princes’ household was what he knew best and probably did best, all things considered. 

***

In the height of summer, the air was warm even in the hour before dawn. The coronation ceremony, which had been held off until after the war was over and the aftermath of the countercoup resolved, was about to begin. 

Despite the pre-dawn hour, nobles and commoners alike gathered in and around the central square. The entire area was richly decorated with gold and velvet; bright banners and flags rippled in the light breeze. Diplomats were in attendance. Regiments stood at the front of the crowd in parade uniform. The Prince’s throne glistened and glittered on its pedestal in front of the State Advisory building. Behind it, stood the Privy Council. 

The Privy Council and August. Lise had demanded he have a place on the platform on the rights of family. “He’s the closest thing the Prince has to a father,” she had told the obstinate herald. In the end, Lise had her way. 

As they waited, Lise turned and said quietly to August, “I finally got up the nerve to see my father last night.”

He looked over at her a little alarmed. “What did you speak of?”

“I asked him why he had betrayed me. He said… he said he felt like he had to choose between Dasha and me.”

“And he chose her?”

“He accused me of abandoning him, of abandoning our entire family. He blamed Mama’s death on me. Said I lost him his position, everything. And Dasha had been the one to pick up the pieces, to make sure our family earned favor once again…” She bit her lip and looked down. “I suppose he was right somewhat.”

“No.” August shook his head and reached out to take her hand. “He wasn’t.” 

She looked up at him and smiled. The distant sound of horns sounded and the crowd began to cheer. “I love you,” Lise mouthed. 

“I love you,” August mouthed back, feeling warmth spread through his body. His heart was lighter these days. Funny how he had always thought that Grafschtum was his home, and yet people in his life kept proving him otherwise. 

The royal guard streamed into the square on horseback to the beat of drums and the march of horns. Between the first wave and the second, all on his own, in a white uniform with gold tripping and epaulets, rode the Prince. 

Charles looked so much like Friedrich. And so much like Lise. 

Prince Charles was helped off his horse and the crowd waited with bated breath as he ascended the pedestal and the throne. The herald stepped forward to perform the appropriate ceremonies. The Regent Privy Council affirmed their loyalty. Then the military gave its oath and the dignitaries of the advisory – theirs. 

Finally, just as the horizon was ready to burst, with utmost care and ceremony, the crown was placed on the Prince’s head. The herald stood aside and shouted, “Long live the Prince!”

“Long live the Prince!” came the echoing shout from the crowd. 

A golden, summer sun rose over Romankrai.


End file.
